Werewolf: The Forsaken: Sins of the Flesh
by DR Studios
Summary: Vincent Nelson is one of the best detectives around. But when a series of disappearances brings him to Denver, the detective will have to embrace the spirit within, as long as the spirits don't get him first.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

**Turn around.**

We live our lives, day-by-day, content in our knowledge of the world. The only pressures stemming from the normality of life. Getting a job, raising a family, any attempt for our own happiness is all we want.

**This is your last chance.**

Science explains our origins, our passions and even our most insatiable desires. Magic doesn't exist, vampires are myths, and shape-shifters are pagan beliefs from when we cowered from our own shadows.

**You've felt **_**it**_** though: a feeling that the world isn't right.**

That shadow that followed you wasn't your imagination. The big dogs that you see in your front lawn aren't normal. Something seen in the mirror and gone when you turn around. Someone's watching you when you're alone in your own home.

**Congratulations. Your normal life is over.**

No matter how hard you try, you can no longer ignore what you've known all along. That chill you feel in a warm room. Why people you don't know greet you on the street. Finding yourself in another place, if only for an instant.

**The veil around your mind has been lifted.**

The world isn't as cut-and-dry as science makes it. There's more. **Much** more. Creatures hunt the night under the full moon, stalkers feast upon your blood in the dead of night, and eccentrics manipulate reality in front of your eyes.

**Welcome. It's a World of Darkness.**

* * *

A circle of candles sent lengthened shadows up the gray-tone walls. Each candle was a different size, their wax dripping down the sides onto the floor. Next to the candles on the floor were various objects. Video Home System tapes, magazines, lingerie, and several crystals were being coated with various colors of candle wax. The candles lit up the room just enough, small points of light in the darkness.

The room itself was bleak beyond the circle. Bleak, if one ignored the symbols drawn into the walls and ceiling. Symbols that resembled slash marks etched with a large knife into the walls, or drawn by hand. They resembled strange hieroglyphics, decorating every exposed area in the room.

Outside of the illuminated circle were collections of various rags and junk. Light showed dark dried liquid on various clothing, caked into the fabric. The piles arranged to two corners of the room, stacked a few feet high, pushed out of the way.

Inside the circle of candles was a young woman. She was nude, the candlelight illuminated her body in a dull orange glow. Her breathing was almost silent in the strange room, where she had been taken against her will. Ravished, raped, used only for her captor's wishes, her spirit was broken her mind catatonic to what was now going on.

Her captor was sitting outside of the circle, staring at the flickering flames. It was nearly time for him. Nearly time to begin. He scratched his torso as he tried to go over everything in his mind. His nails left long red marks along his skin, looking as if he had let them grow, then filed them to a sharp point. Hair covered most of his body in thick tuft, covering his chest, shoulders, even down to the backs of his palms.

The light was weak, but was strong enough to note a difference in his features as he stood. His height was above average, even giving way to the fact that he was large. Not fat or bulky, just built and toned. His face was almost human. The lines of his nose and eyes were angular, protruding outwards slightly, giving him a more feral appearance. Shagged facial hair grew out wildly from the sides of his jaws, matted and clumped.

"Almost..." he forced, his breathing irregular, almost frantic.

"_Do not put off the ritual any longer,_" another voice echoed in his ears. "_We have waited long enough for you to start the process..._"

He turned to the voice, and nothing was there.

Of course nothing was there. Nothing that could be seen.

The voice had come to him through an ancient tongue. A tongue that he remembered spending days and nights perfecting. The tongue that only few could learn.

"Almost...."

"_Enough stalling,_" the voice said again, harsher. He looked in that direction, and there was a massive gray wolf standing to his right. It looked every bit like a normal wolf with a healthy coat of fur. Except for the empty black eyes staring at him. "_You must begin..._"

"_Yes, yes,_" he muttered back as he walked to the piles of junk and cloth in the back corners.

He bent over, moving with a fever matching his erratic breathing. Digging through the items until he found something. Pulling it effortlessly, he was disappointed that it wasn't the object he was looking for, but instead what remained of a human foot. Frowning in disappointment, he dug again, pulling on something else, this time causing the upper torso of someone to fall to his feet. Again, not what he was looking for.

The piles of cloth and junk were more than that, they were piles of bodies. Pieces of humans and wolves that he had brought back here, to his little secret place, and indulged himself in his desires. Sometimes he took their teeth and ate them after death. Others he had gnawed on their bones while the moon was high in the sky. If there was a method to his madness, it escaped everyone. Even him.

Finally he retrieved a knife, yanking it from an earlier victim. Blood soaked the blade from where it had been, and he licked it. A bolt of pain raced through his mind as he slightly cut his tongue on the cold metal. The cut wasn't bad, but he relished in the pain it brought.

He staggered over to the circle of candles, and the woman lying there. Staring at her, he was finding it difficult to avoid ravaging her body once more. But, he was being watched. And his guest did not like to be left waiting. The man glanced back at the wolf. It's features still. No movement of the tail, no twitching of the ears, no movement of the whiskers. Just a dead stare with those black, shark-like eyes.

Taking the knife the man cut both of his wrists, the metal causing his skin to burn and smoke as he let out a snarl of pain. Blood dripped down onto the floor before he let it drip into the circle, swinging his arm to let the blood fall upon the girl's unmoving form. He did this for several minutes, his blood never never stopping and the wounds stayed open.

Finally he stopped. The offerings were in place, and the blood had been spilled. Letting the knife drop to the floor, he began to chant. Sounds, not words, flew from his mouth. A combination of hushed tones, snarls, growls, chirps, and other odd sounds came from him. His hands made wild gestures, his long nails reflected in the low light. He stomped his feet, a howl bursting from his throat as the strange chanting continued.

The wolf just watched, its eyes staring at the man as he continued the ritual.

More the man continued with his animalistic chanting and howling. But there was more. He wasn't simply going through the motions, he was putting his own energy into it. Something unseen, yet tangible was flowing from his own body into the girl who was laying in the middle of the circle. More of this substance was being drained from the crystals covered in wax and blood, into the girl as well.

It couldn't be seen, but the man could _feel_ it happening. Like letting out a sigh after a cold drink on a hot day. The slow washing away of his own energy into his actions.

The girl was laying on her side when the ritual had started. Illuminated only by the candlelight, her body was covered in sweat, blood, and other substances, decorated in a similar fashion as the markings on the walls. As the ritual commenced, she could feel something, like a mist, hang around her, being absorbed.

She started withering on the floor. Something was wrong. Her eyes wide open, yet empty of any emotion, even fear, she felt but didn't comprehend the sensation of energy being absorbed into her. Filling her body with the sensation of several emotions.

Her body arched and jerked as more and more energy was sent into her body. It arched up, pushing her stomach as high as it would go with the curve of her spine. Something was working its way inside of her, and her face was contorted into a silent scream. The sensation coming from this was a combination of pleasure and pain. So painful that if she had her mind, would be erotic.

The thing, inside her, was growing, ready to birth. And using the woman's body as a host.

She registered the pain, but could not scream, as her mind was being filled with more pleasure than pain. More and more energy flowed into her, feeding the thing now working inside of her. Something could be seen slithering around inside her body, under the skin. Getting bigger with every mote of energy offered it.

A final burst of energy from the man and the crystals around her. She gasped as she felt the thing inside her taking shape and form. No longer telling pleasure from pain, her eyes rolled back into their sockets as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Then the sensation stopped.

In what could be called an explosion of blood and energy, the woman died. The candles were blown out as her blood splattered the walls in a horrific display of power. Smoke rose from where she had been. The man had been knocked back from the force of the blast, landing on his rump and staring at the smoke now filling the room. The wolf just stared at him. No sense of emotion or thought given away by its still form.

Sitting dumbfounded, the man stared at the smoke. Thoughts of failure raced through his mind as he looked at the wolf, standing off to the side. Had he failed the ritual? Was it supposed to end like that? Why wasn't the wolf tearing him apart if he had failed? Should he run? Would he have to start over again?

A soft coo grabbed his attention, and his eyes snapped back to the smoke as it now started to clear. Even with the candles blown out, he could perceive the darkness as if a light was on.

A thin arm lifted itself out of the thick of smoke, open palmed to the ceiling. The arm was thin, feminine, wrapped in a long black arm warmer covering it right past where it disappeared into the smoke still clinging to the spot. It moved gracefully, almost teasingly before it disappeared back into the smoke.

It was another tense second before he saw a form rise from the smoke. The form was humanoid, a tight black dress clung to the body as it rose up on her hands and knees. She looked back at him from over her right shoulder and he could see a glowing red light coming from behind the hair that hung in front of her face.

He just stared as she rose, a thin ,beautiful, woman standing before him. Her long black dress had a slit running up past her hip. Long black hair waved down to her rear, even snaking around her shoulders. A swirling dark tattoo of some sort snaked its way all down the right side of her body, from her face, arm, and down to her feet. Her shoes were stark black heels, giving her an even taller appearance.

"Ooo," she cooed, a soft purr in her voice. "It's so," she stopped looking for the word. "Wonderful."

Softly she walked towards the man, her footsteps silent on the blood covered floor. He stared up at her, shock in his eyes.

"It... It worked?" he said exasperated.

Bending down, the woman looked into his eyes. Hers were a nice violet, the same color as her lips. "Oh yes my little servant... It worked." The spot where her right eye was supposed to be started glowing red through the hair.

She leaned down more and planted a kiss on the man's lips.

A burst of power flew from her into her minion. His body buckled and twitched from the power flowing into him, muffled yells and screams caught dead on her lips.

As the woman unleashed her power into the convulsing man, the wolf looked on. Its black, soulless, eyes watching everything. Silent as death.

* * *

Chicago was always a busy town. Late at night everyone had somewhere to be. Even in the less splendid section of the major city, people were moving about. Taking the train, walking to and from clubs, stumbling home after being kicked out of a club.

As a public transit train roared past an apartment building, one of the tenants was fast asleep in her bed. She didn't live alone. Four of her closest companions shared the apartment, either sleeping on the floor or taking one of the other rooms, depending who was busy.

She was a white haired beauty. Not old by any means, but fairly close to being considered an albino. Attractive to anyone who saw her, however her attentions weren't towards love or affection of any kind. Many didn't even have the nerve to hit on her.

It wasn't that she didn't care at all, or had no emotions. The opposite was true. She had a deep hearted attachment to the People.

Her kind.

She wasn't a human. She was something _more._ A creature united of the spirit and flesh. Able to walk between the physical and the immaterial.

She was a werewolf, and her name was Doomwise.

Doomwise was a prophet among her fellow werewolves. As creatures tied to the spiritual side of the world, they had a large responsibility on their shoulders that humans wouldn't care about, let alone _know_ about. Prophets were listened to, as their dreams often had a large impact on a pack's territory.

She, however, was a prophet among prophets. Every dream she had came true with such devastating accuracy, that whenever she spoke everyone listened. Putting aside their heated territorial disputes to solve a much larger problem. Of course, this gained her a bit of notoriety as well, hence her name.

Images passed through the sleeping woman's mind.

Plants growing with a feverish speed, overflowing with a lushness that surpassed anything known. Enveloping her in a land, pure, and healthy. Energy flowed from everything. Water, to rock, to tree, and even into her. The sensation of this essence was so intoxicating, nothing like she had ever experienced in her life. She could perceive everything. Every rustle of leaves. Every step an animal made. Every scent one could imagine.

Without warning there was a loud, deep, howl. It was sorrowful, aching, and one of death. Doomwise felt the ground shake, the plants and animals wither to death. A separation. Something cut off the energy she felt from the world, nearly killing it. Tearing the world asunder, drawing streaks of red across the sky like blood. She knew the reason. She knew the cause.

Sorrow gripped her.

The perception shifted again. Red stained the sky as she tried to concentrate on the images before her. A city-scape. Barren, dead. The skyscrapers were hollowed wreckage as the black clouds littered the sky. She heard laughing and turned to see nine human figures standing around on top of rubble, their eyes glowing bright red.

Energy seemed to flow into them from everywhere, and she tried to see the source. When she found it, a greater fear tore at her heart.

Bodies. Hundreds of hundreds of dead human bodies covered the ground. Some skeletons, others freshly killed, and all in the throws of death. It wasn't only human bodies, wolves were scattered among the dead as well. Stacked like mountains in the horizon. Their fur matted with dried blood, skins torn from their bodies leaving the flesh to rot.

It made the werewolf want to lash out. To unleash the sorrow at the scene of death and destruction before her. The death of her kind.

A howl pierced through the laughter. A strong howl of anger and Rage. A howl of the hunt. There was a similarity in the howl. Something matching the roar from earlier. Not on the surface, but the howl was from the same creature.

Images shifted once more. This time, she was surprised to see not the wolf god, but a werewolf howling to the sky. Muscles quivering under the fur as its hands flexed, prepared for battle. Legs tensed and cocked, ready to lash out and fling it forward.

Hope started to fill her heart as she saw the werewolf before her. Then it changed to confusion as she saw the moon form behind the shapeshifter, still howling. The moon started new, then swiftly changed phases. From crescent, half, gibbous, and then to full. At the full moon, the heavenly body started to glow so bright, that it enveloped Doomwise in a bright light.

She awoke with a start, as the train finished careening past the apartment, leaving a long whine as it went along the tracks. Doomwise breaths were sharp and shallow. Wide-eyed she was surprised she hadn't shouted in her sleep like many dreams from the moon had done before. Quickly she grabbed a robe and walked into the living room of the apartment.

Two figures were in the living room, one was laying on her stomach on the couch in the corner, a long spear at the ends of her fingers on the carpet. The other was a canine, curled up in the shadows under the window across the room.

Doomwise looked around the room. There should be two others in the apartment, but those packmates were probably on patrol, and she wasn't sure when they would be back.

Normally the dreams wouldn't affect her this much, but this dream had the werewolf scared. She had seen death before, but not death on that sort of scale. Flipping on the light in the larger room, she closed her eyes before trying to adjust them.

The young woman on the bed was up instantly, grabbing her spear and panning the room with her eyes, half expecting a brawl. She had aimed and was ready to attack the white haired woman before realizing what was going on.

"What? Shit Doom," she said sleepily. "What's wrong? I nearly put this spear through your head."

"It's another dream, so put your weapon down!"

"Hey, don't get shitty with me." the woman snipped back. "You're the one flipping on lights in the middle of the night."

The red haired canine in the corner was waking up as well. His fur was a rusty crimson, as he stretched out, opening his jaws into a large yawn. Shaking the sleep from his body as he stood up, continuing to stretch.

"_Was it another dream?_" the wolf asked in the spirit language, a speech heavy with a growling rasp.

Doomwise nodded at her pack mate, still in his wolf form. "Where are Elias and Kalila?"

"Still on patrol," Dana replied, rolling herself over, facing away from the light. "Won't be back for another hour or so." Heartsblood, the wolf sitting and scratching behind his ear, was silent as his pack mates talked.

The prophet sat down in the middle of the room, trying to calm herself. She needed to think through the dream. To pick out the message between the imagery. Giving names and meaning to the places and things.

Something stuck out in her mind. The cityscape shown to her by the moon goddess' graces. There was a notion that stuck to her mind as she reviewed the dream over and over. A good thing, perhaps, were that prophets could remember their dreams with such clarity, that it was almost as if they re-lived it.

Doomwise thought about the buildings in her dreams. Something about them seemed familiar. They weren't Chicago buildings, they were scattered too far and so few skyscrapers that it couldn't be the Windy City. Yet it was so familiar that Doomwise was positive she had been there multiple times.

She sat there for a few minutes as she tried to recall the images of everywhere she had been. Werewolves weren't one to take pictures of their victories like trophies. They were a bit more conservative in what they took. A piece of their fallen enemy, a spiritual fetish from another. The prophet worked through her memories and the vision, mentally comparing places and landmarks.

Then it clicked.

"Denver," she said with a shocked realization.

"What?" Dana replied, half asleep on the couch.

"Denver! We have to go back to Denver!"

"Huh? Are you crazy? Last time we were there we nearly got our selves killed kicking Gurdilag's big ass."

"Yes I know," Doomwise replied. "But this is worse. _Much_ worse."

"_Doomwise's predictions have never been too far off the mark,_" Heartsblood chipped in, nearly a whisper.

"You got a point there _fuzzball_," the woman replied as she forced herself off the couch. "Fine, I'll get the others back here." She reached for a cell phone nestled in next to some of her bladed weapons at the edge of the couch.

Doomwise nodded. She knew where they had to go.

She just didn't know what to do when they got there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Staring Through the Shadows.

Interstate 70, a stretch of highway that winds from Illinois to Utah: carving a path through the heartland of America. Semi-trucks and motorists travel this road more during the summer than any other time of the year. A family vacation, the summer break, I-70 quickly became a packed highway of road rage and honking horns with the rising temperature.

A tan colored car drove along, crossing the border between Kansas and Colorado. This automobile was a 92 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with its fair share of dented metal and paint swaps. A magnetic antenna clung to the top of the car, connecting to the citizen's ban radio sitting on the floorboard.

The interior of the Oldsmobile was black fabric and plastic. An electronic speedometer and trip meter in the dashboard recorded how far the driver had gone. The two forward windows were rolled down, rather than run the air conditioning.

The driver's hair flapped in the wind blowing in through the open windows. It was long and dark, tied up with a blue hair-tie into a ponytail. Long bangs blasted in wild directions over the driver's eyes hovering over the left side. The eyes were hazel green, squinting against the blasting wind and flaying hair.

A cigarette rested between his lips. Half gone, the smoke blasted into the air. Sitting in the passenger seat was a folded light-tan trench coat. Resting on the coat coat was a black leather-bound book. Sticky notes of every color jutted out from the pages, making the book look like a neon peacock.

Vincent Nelson watched the early morning horizon of I-70 as he drove into Colorado. Only into his second decade of life, he had already made a name for himself in the world of investigation. When he was 15 he had shed light on a local serial murder. Picking up on the pattern of murders and clues left behind, he pointed the police in the right direction. Awarded for his efforts, he began his own detective agency right out of high school.

While Vincent constantly dealt with mostly small cases, his area of interest was the strange and unusual. He had an obsession with the occult, the strange, the _supernatural_. In short, he was a paranormal private investigator, and the book that sat on his coat was his journal.

Vincent had experienced the paranormal before. His family had moved constantly and one of their homes was haunted. The young Vincent had enough run-ins with their resident ghost that his interest in the supernatural began to grow. Ever since then, he's read libraries worth of information on the subject of unexplained mysteries, phenomenon, and creatures.

Aliens, Nessie, Yeti, and even more bizarre tales had passed by his eyes. Despite his attention to detail, it was too much information for him to remember. So he started a journal. To store the information he collected as well as his own case book. He started his journal, or "the Book," as he called it.

Vincent hummed along with a song on the radio as he watched the road. Alan Jackson was singing in his famous southern drawl..

"Heh," Vincent muttered to himself. "Go get 'em Alan."

He listened to the radio for another hour before he lost the signal coming from 60 miles behind him. Vincent searched the airwaves for another country station. His fingers stopped turning the dial when it came unto a news broadcast.

"… And still no news on the disappearance of Alice Fischer. The young woman is the daughter of oil well owner Gerald Fischer and the latest in a series of disappearances around the Denver area. Police have not ruled out kidnapping as of yet, however, without the arrival of a ransom note, the worst is feared…"

_Alice Fischer_, Vincent thought to himself, his eyes narrowing. _The reason I'm driving out here…_

* * *

_Vincent sat in his office, one room of his home. Newspapers and tabloids littered the floor and stacks of books were ready to burst out of their cramped shelves. Framed pictures sat in the window sill to his right, one of which was his debut into the detective business. A newspaper clipping that had the headline:_ Teen Sleuth Cracks Case.

_He sat behind his desk, a cigarette in his mouth, reading the newspaper. His last case was over. He helped out the police on occasion, his insight on par with the seasoned veterans. For the most part, he ran his own agency to help the normal folks. The gratitude of the people he worked for was enough for him._

_Although pay never hurt._

_His interest had gathered a reputation that the police called him in when the crime scenes were too weird. He investigated on his own, and usually come up with nothing, or his main lead would disappear the minute he turned his back._

_He wore a frown on his face as he read the newspaper. Lately he had been bored. There were no cases for the past week. His small library of occult information had been read and re-read for the last two years. All the information he had accumulated was stored within his journal. The Book rested on his desk, next to the phone._

_Vincent was surprised by the sound of his phone actually ringing. He set the newspaper down and picked up the receiver. Was it a wrong number? Or his mom telling him she lost his cell number again?_

_"Hello?" he said into the receiver._

_"Is this Nelson's Detective Agency of the Paranormal and Mundane?" replied a male voice with a slight tone of charisma. He almost sounded like a politician._

_"Ye-Yes it is. What can I do for you?"_

_"Well Mr. Nelson, it is a pleasure to finally speak with you. Your past record is quite impressive."_

_Vincent arched his eyebrows. His past record hadn't been televised much. Most of his work was with the police community within his home town. Even if anyone had heard of him, it would have to be a neighboring police station._

_"I'm flattered to hear such a thing, but I doubt someone would call just to acknowledge my past accomplishments."_

_He heard a chuckle come from the other side. "Always one to the point, eh Mr. Nelson?"_

_"You could say that. Now, what can I help you with?"_

_"In short, Mr. Nelson, a few people have gone missing: one of them the daughter of a wealthy family. The police have already gotten involved; however, at the moment they seem to be at a loss."_

_Vincent opened his book and turned it to a blank page, writing with his free hand. "Go on…"_

_"Recently a girl by the name of Alice Fischer has gone missing. I'm sure you've heard."_

_Vincent thought back. There had been an article about a missing girl. "Several more as a matter of fact. Alice is the latest."_

_"That is correct."_

_"Tell me something," Vincent thought before asking. "Exactly what is your connection to this family?"_

_There was a slight chuckle. "Why I am merely a friend of the family. Their mental well being is something I take great care in maintaining. As you can imagine, they are devastated at the situation. I would look into it myself, however, with my schedule I cannot take a personal endeavorer into the matter, which is why I called you."_

_Vincent wrote:_ Legit connection to family?

_"Take my assurances that your trip here will be fully accommodated for. The Fischers will spare no expense in any news of their daughter," he said, boasting with charismatic charm._

_The cigarette in Vincent's mouth almost fell out. His jaw dropped at what this caller had just said. Would he really be accommodated for his time spent… Where would he be?_

_"Where do the Fischer's live?" he asked, tapping his pencil on the page._

_"Denver. Boulder specifically…," and Vincent was given the street address to the grieving parents._

_"I'll be there tomorrow morning," he said into the receiver after writing._

_There was a silence on the other end of the receiver for a moment. "Very well, I shall inform the Fishers that you are on your way. Perhaps this will ease the pain nestling around their home. Good luck in your case Mr. Nelson." Then the receiver went dead._

_Vincent stared at the phone for a few seconds. He had been offered a job: this one outside the community where he had a good standing with the police. Something bothered him however._

_Why would they hire _him_, of all reasonable and qualified persons that lived in Denver?_

_He wrote down something else in the Book:_ Questionable hiring. Watch yourself in Denver. Find true reason for being hired.

* * *

Vincent drove through the thick of Denver, sticking to Interstate 70 before catching the off-ramp on North I-25. He turned taking Route 36 straight into Boulder. The highway phased into 28th street and Vincent turned onto a street and pulled over. After a quick look at the address and at a map of Boulder he bought before leaving home, he drove through the small college town.

Something tinged at the back of his mind. Every person he saw driving or walking the streets had a smile on their faces. The entire town had a feeling of happiness and joy, like watching an old 60's TV show. It was just slightly disturbing.

Following the directions to the Fischer's residence, Vincent let out a low whistle. The reports about Alice being an heiress weren't an exaggeration. Vincent was driving into the rich part of Boulder, and probably the richest part of Colorado. He passed by established homes, almost mansions. Each a different two story home with elaborate brick work. Watching for the address, he pulled over and parked the car. Getting out he reached for his trench coat and the Book. He checked the inside holders in the tan jacket.

Resting inside a set of holders was a pair of sai. On his belt was a thin holster, he reached for a foot-long steel cylinder. On the middle of the cylinder was a twisting cap. He set the cylinder and sai back onto the seat, covering them with the city map. Wouldn't need weapons for this stop. Vincent grabbed the Book and slid it inside one of his inner pockets.

Locking his car, he walked up the driveway to the house that belonged to the Fischers.

* * *

Vincent looked into the red eyes of Mrs. Maggie Fischer, the hours of crying and restless nights showed their toll on the middle-aged woman. He sat in a cushioned chair in the center of a large room. The room they were in was what Vincent considered the living room. Portraits and fine items rested on the walls and various shelves. Everything with a nice sheen to the edges of the wall furnishings. The room itself was large, much larger than any single room Vincent had been in. In fact it would have been able to hold most of his current apartment.

Mrs. Fischer was dressed in slightly fancy clothes. A multi-colored blouse with Native American designs covered over with a light denim vest. Her blond hair graying at the roots, showing her age. She wore blue jeans and leather cowboy boots. The woman moved her glasses to rub the tears in her eyes away.

Standing a few feet behind his wife, Gerald Fischer was a living tribute to the male stereotype of being emotionless, but even Vincent could tell the concern, anger, and worry in his stance. He was wearing blue jeans as well, his red plaid shirt tucked in under a leather black belt with a decorative belt buckle.

Vincent had done some research into the Fischers after taking the job itself.

The Fischers were a family who owned several oil wells and a few fields along the boarder between Colorado and Kansas. Many of them had been owned and maintained for nearly 40 years, passed down through the family. The company had several backers and connections within Denver, Hays, and Colorado Springs, mostly local businesses that could use the money and oil, and few large business conglomerates. Of course with the war in the Middle East, and gas prices going up, the Fischers were well off.

And that could mean trouble for the family.

He looked back at the red-eyed Mrs. Fischer.

"When was the last time you saw Alice?" he asked calmly.

Mrs. Fischer sniffed and tried to regain her composure. "It was four days ago, the afternoon."

Vincent pulled out the Book and began taking the woman's testimony.

"Was there any reason she might run away? A family dispute?" he asked.

Tears began forming in the woman's eyes once more. "No, no," she said, stifling back her sobbing. "It was a normal day. Gerald was visiting a consultant in Denver, Alice was," she rubbed her eyes. "Alice was getting ready to go out with her friends and she told me she'd be back by... by…" The stress of remembering the last instant she had seen her daughter finally caught up with Maggie and she broke down into tears.

Gerald Fischer had finally had enough of the questioning, turning to Vincent.

"Can't you stop pestering my wife?! She's already told you everything she knows!"

Vincent stared Gerald Fisher in the eyes, "Mr. Fischer, please. I'm trying to help. This is a very emotional time for you and your wife, but I need every detail you can give me. No matter how small it is it could determine whether Alice is found or not."

Gerald walked over and sat next to his wife, wrapping an arm around her. He turned towards Vincent, "We've already told everything we know to the police. Please, just leave us to cope and pray for her safety."

Vincent let out a sigh as he closed the Book and stood up. "All right, I'll see what I can do. I'll update you on what I find." He turned to leave.

"Wait." Vincent turned back and looked at Gerald Fischer. The two men stared at each other for a moment before the elder one looked away. Vincent drew in a breath through his nose. There was something about Gerald's comment that told the detective there was more he wanted to say. "Just… go."

He walked to the door, setting a cigarette in his mouth, ready to light the moment he walked out the front door. Just as he put his hand on the door knob, the door bell rang. Vincent blinked in surprise before turning the knob.

Standing in front of Vincent was a man, standing about four inches shorter than he was. He had wild, fiery, hair and a large smile that nearly went from ear to ear. Dressed in black clothes, he had a white bow-tie around his collar. Resting in his hands was a Bible, the giant gold cross reflecting the morning sun. For what he could tell, Vincent thought the man was a preist or pastor. Vincent was taken aback by the fact that the smile the man was wearing looked inhuman and painful.

"Excuse me," the man said never changing his smile. "Are you Gerald Fischer?"

Vincent shook his head. "He's inside. Who are you?"

"Why I'm Sean Henry, the leader of the Blissful Friends Network. Would you like to join our organization?" the man replied, looking at Vincent with hope in his eyes.

"Eh," Vincent replied as he started to walk past Henry. "Sorry, but I'll have to pass. I'm only here for a few days, a week at best."

"That's a shame. Perhaps you could join our other organizations. You can visit our website for more information," Henry said as he handed Vincent a brochure from his pocket.

"Sure. I'll do that." Vincent walked down the driveway as Sean Henry went inside the Fischers' home.

Vincent thought to himself about Henry, _The Fischers need some counseling, who better than a priest? Creepy smile though._

As he stepped up to his car, something tugged at the edge of his senses. It was a strange feeling, almost a ping of anger, fear, hatred, and death. Vincent's eyes went back up to the Fischers' house and he stared before opening the driver-side door and driving off towards the Boulder Police station.

* * *

"Now why should I tell you anything about the Fischer case?"

Maxwell Parker had been on the police force long enough to recognize an amateur when he saw one. Well into his early forties, Max had a five o'clock shadow that hadn't been shaved in the last few days. As he wrestled with the normal stress of managing the Denver Police Force, he occasionally had to deal with private detectives who thought they could find something his men couldn't. The young man in his office wasn't any different.

The man had a scent of cigarette smoke around him, and his eyes were softly narrowed, almost looking like he was stoned or just out of it. His tan trench coat was out of season, and he needed a hair cut. Most of all he needed to get a clue.

"Look Nelson," Max growled. "I don't care if you're a private investigator or not. We can't give you any information other than what the reporters were given. Anything else and the people's lives are as good as gone."

Vincent looked the chief of police in the eyes before responding. "I need what information you have. Mrs. Fischer is too devastated about the ordeal and her husband kicked me out before I could get anything. I need that information if the families are going to have any closure."

Parker looked at Vincent, staring the younger man in the eyes. There was defiance and pride mixed in the older man's eyes.

"Listen small fry," he said, glaring at Vincent. "I've seen more shit in the last week than you'll see your whole life. Now unless you wanna end up in the _tank_ for the next day, get out of my office while I'm still in a good mood."

Vincent scowled at the chief before turning and leaving the office.

_One thing's for sure, my rep doesn't go past home._

He walked out into the main offices of the precinct. Phones rang periodically, while officers brought in suspects to be interrogated and lawyers came in to give their defendants a fighting chance.

_Without that info, I don't have a decent direction to go in,_ Vincent thought to himself as he headed for the stairway. _Alice Fischer and the others might as well be dead. The Denver and Boulder cops have too much ground to cover and they have to deal with the other shit that happens in this town._

His eyebrows twitched as he worked his way down the stairway and into the crowded first floor. Officers moved constantly around, civilians coming in, the place was buzzing with activity.

_And I can't wait to go back home where I don't have to deal with the crowds of the city._

Vincent had always had a slight problem with crowds. It could be classified as agoraphobia, a fear of crowded places, only Vincent didn't lose his cool in those situations. Usually one of his eyes would start twitching or he'd fiddle with his lighter. He had just arrived to the Denver Police Station after a chat with the Boulder police.

Neither the Boulder nor Denver police were willing to give out any information about the missing people, even though the two forces had been working together for the last week. He snorted under his breath as he made his way for the front door.

* * *

Amanda Bonner was your typical teenager. Going through the stress of finishing high school and getting ready for college. The pressure of trying to maintain a figure demanded of by the glamorous media, while worrying about how she caught the boy's eye. She was petite and wearing a t-shirt that was a little tight, showing off her torso in decent detail.

Vincent considered the young woman attractive, but he had business here, correcting his wandering eyes.

"I don't know why you keep asking me. I don't know anything about what happened to Alice," she complained.

"Amanda!" her mother barked. "I'm sorry Mr. Nelson. It's just been tough on my daughter."

"Understandable," the detective replied. "It's been tough on everyone. Were you close with Alice?"

"Yeah. We've known each other since middle-school an' stuff."

This was the third friend of Alice Fischer that Vincent had managed to talk to. After reading the newspapers from the past week, he checked the addresses of her friends who had seen her last. Amanda was the last one on the list who had reportedly been with Alice on the last day she was seen.

"What were you planning to do that night?"

"Just... go out. You know. Hang out an' stuff."

"Amanda!"

"What? It's not like we were doing anything illegal."

Something struck Vincent about the way the girl was acting. She was hiding something.

"Nothing illegal huh," he asked. "What didn't you do that was so _illegal_?"

Amanda started to show her frustration. "Nothing! We just went out to a few places. Had dinner. That's it."

Vincent inhaled sharply, almost sniffing the air. _No, it wasn't._

"You're about what, Amanda? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

She seemed taken off by the question, as did her mother. "I'm seventeen."

"Now there are a lot of things you could do that could be considered illegal. Going bar-hopping with fake IDs is one."

"Are you accusing my daughter of being a whore?" the mom retorted, annoyance and anger in her voice.

"Nothing of the sort. But teenagers have a tendency to hide things from their parents. Especially if they could get in trouble for it. Something could have happened with their _night on the town_ that they don't want many people to know about."

Amanda started looking nervous.

_Bingo._

"The way I see it. You have a healthy, active young lady. Who, like her friends, is enjoying some of her new found freedom and liberty. A bit of a thrill seeker if you will. She and her friends want to experience the more adult side of Denver night life, so they go out to places where they can do adult things. Like drink."

"I will not stand by here and have you insult my girl like this Mr. Nelson..."

"No...it's true..." Vincent and her mother looked at Amanda as she lowered her eyes to the table.

"What?!" her mother exclaimed.

"Mrs. Bonnner, please," Vincent stopped the tongue lashing. "What happened"

"It was late. We had gotten together, all dressed up for this bar we heard about. It was a goth place. Lots of bats and gargoyles."

"Amanda!"

"Mrs. Bonnner, please! Go on."

"We got there, and it was pretty late. Since it was a weekened, we could stay out later. We had a few drinks while we were there. Some guys hit on us, but we ignored them."

"You were drinking?!" her mom shouted, sending Amanda wincing back.

"It's okay for now. Go on Amanda."

"Well," she continued. "We were there for a few hours. Drinking and stuff. Alice went to the bathroom and met this guy somewhere along the way. He was pretty messed up. Hairy, and he smelled pretty bad too. But Alice wasn't worried at all. We tried to talk her out of it, but she wasn't playing any attention to us. It was like she was in a trance or something."

Vincent was jotting down the important parts of the story. Sure, the girl was going to get grounded and lose what little freedom she had for lying to her parents and the police, but given her situation, he couldn't blame her.

"What did he look like?"

"He was... tall. Kinda big, you know. Like he worked out a lot, but not ripped. He really sent a chill through me when I saw him."

"Face?"

"I don't know... I didn't get a good look at him. He did have these wild eyes though. Really creepy, like he was looking at a piece of meat when he stared at you."

_Well that describes most people in Denver when they go to a bar..._ Vincent thought.

"What was Alice wearing?"

"It was one of those Lolita dresses. You know, black and really frilly, low cut over her chest. Here. I have a picture..." Amanda got up and went to retrieve a camera from the computer desk. As she brought it back she flipped through the pictures before showing Vincent several.

The digital screen showed him four young women, each in gothic style dress sitting around a table, with Amanda holding the camera and pointing it back at them. A girl in the second seat looked like Alice.

"Is this her?"

"Yeah."

Vincent looked at the picture in a bit more detail. He wasn't into fashion statements, but he could see why the outfit would appeal to young girls, and guys. While the table cut off the rest of the dress from her torso down, it did show him some other factors. She was wearing a few sets of jewelry. A pair of earrings and two necklaces, one which looked like a photo-locket.

"Does she wear this stuff often?"

"She never takes off the necklace."

"What is it?"

"It's a picture locket. It's got a picture of her parents and her dog."

He looked over the digital picture one more time before handing it back to the girl.

"What was the name of this place?"

"It's called _Mystique_, it's down towards the worst part of town. And it's only open at night."

"Thank you," Vincent replied, writing a bit more into the Book before taking his leave.

Amanda and her other friends were going to be in a lot of trouble. However, stuff like that happened with cases like this. A group of friends go out for a good time. Something bad happens and they all agree to cover it up. Even though this information would have come in handy days ago, they were more afraid of their own skins than their friend's.

He had also considered what role the Fischer business could play in the case. That would be a better chance for the girl to survive. Business rivalries were usually bloodless. Put a little bit of pressure on the company owner to make him back down, and you spared the life of their daughter. Archaic, but effective.

After checking the business angle of the case, he wasn't so sure it could be explained so easily. The Fischer's oil wells were doing okay, but they weren't doing great. Financially they posed no threat to their partners or rivals. If the Fischers had been contacted for a ransom or anything else, they were keeping a tight lip about it.

So far the case was looking like an added victim to a murderer's spree. That was the odd thing too. No bodies had been reported of the missing persons since their disappearance. Vincent had checked the local papers, and all he could find were a rash of missing pets throughout Denver.

There was always a pattern to a serial killer. Most often it was a psychological attachment to an idea or place. They targeted certain individuals that met their requirements to indulge in some nightmarish desire. But all off the missing persons were completely different. The first had been a known prostitute working Denver's south side. Next was an old man with a loving and stable family. Such a random assortment of disappearing people meant one of two things. Either the murderer didn't care who he killed, or it was more than one murderer in Denver.

No. There was one thing he remembered. Many of the disappearances had been around Denver's worst-off area.

Of course there was no telling if it was a series of murders. Yet. With no bodies, no evidence, and so very little connecting the disappearances, it was looking more like a wild goose chase.

Vincent walked down the sidewalk towards his car, digging his lighter out of his pocket, thinking about his next move. If _Mystique_ was open only at night, he had several hours left until sundown. All he could do at the moment was scout around the bar to estimate where the closest places to take a person were. And extraction points on foot or by vehicle. If Alice and the other missing people were taken anywhere it could be in the vicinity of the bar.

That's _if_ the other people had been there too.

He flipped his lighter open, and started to strike the igniter. Flint sparked but refused to light. Vincent frowned as he tried harder to get his lighter to work. He closed the lid to the metal case and shook the lighter mixing more fluid in.

Flipping the lighter open again, Vincent struck the flint roller, and a chill ran up his spine.

Fire caught along the top and inside of the lighter case. Flames rolled down the side of the lighter and Vincent dropped it on the sidewalk with a reflex action as the fire engulfed it.

The metal clanked against the cement and Vincent watched the fire that covered the lighter dissipate the instant it hit the sidewalk.

Vincent blinked at the metal casing sitting on the sidewalk for a moment before he bent over and picked the lighter back up in his hand. The metal was cold. No evidence of the consuming flames he had just seen. In fact, his fingers weren't burned; he had dropped it out of surprise.

He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. The lighter was fine, except for the scratch on the corner where it landed. Looking over the lighter one more time, he placed it inside his pocket as he reached for his car keys.

* * *

Vincent walked into the lobby of a Motel Six. Since it was mid afternoon the lobby was nearly empty save for the receptionist behind the desk. He walked up and was instantly greeted by the young man.

"Hello," the man said. "How long do you plan on staying?"

Vincent thought for a moment. He would be reimbursed for his time spent, but he had to make sure he had some information for the Fischers to give them some closure. Even if the police closed the case before he did, all that mattered was that that family found peace.

"About a week, give or take a few days."

The receptionist typed into the computer. "And your name sir?"

"Vincent Nelson."

Several keystrokes later Vincent saw the receptionist's face contort in confusion. "That's odd,"

"Hmm?"

"Did you have a reservation?"

"No," Vincent replied, surprised at the question. "Why?"

"It says here," the sound of keystrokes met Vincent's ears. "That you've had a reservation since… yesterday afternoon."

Vincent leaned over the counter to take a look and the man turned the computer screen so that he could see it. His eyes scanned the screen. The green letters against the black background made it look like an old DOS computer program. He found the date of the reservation and true enough it was dated yesterday.

"Is there a way if you can see what time the reservation was made?"

The receptionist eyed the screen. His finger touched the screen as he looked for the information.

"According to this, the reservation was made yesterday afternoon."

Vincent looked at the screen. The date was yesterday, and it was about fifteen minutes after he had been called back in his office.

This didn't sit right. Under normal conditions he would be paid after reporting his findings to his clients. Someone was going out of their way to make sure he was accommodated, and it was abnormal behavior for a client.

He turned to the receptionist. "Was this reservation paid for?"

"Yes, it was," the man looked at Vincent, confused. "For the first day. And subsequent charges for each day to the same account."

"Okay then," Vincent turned around and walked for the door.

"Sir? Didn't you want a room?"

Vincent just waved, the back of his hand facing the receptionist as he left the Motel Six. He walked out to his car, his mind racing.

Whoever wanted his help wanted to make sure he'd be willing to help. They had reserved and even paid for his hotel room, but how would they know which hotel he was going to stay at? Their over-enthusiasm was turning him off. He had to go to a hotel where he wouldn't be followed, wouldn't even be thought of going to.

He fished for his car keys and fumbled with the key to unlock his car. A chill ran up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Fear clawed at his mind.

A blast of lightning struck the Motel Six. The thunderclap knocked Vincent to the ground, his keys clicking on the pavement. Windows rattled and car alarms blared as the lights burnt out inside the building. The giant "6" on the top of the motel sparked and fizzled and started to bend forward. Lightning had melted the main supports and the weight of the sign caused the bolts and metal to twist.

Crashing into the ground, the giant six became a tangled mess of metal, glass, and wiring. Vincent rolled over and pushed himself up. The thunderclap had deafened him, a loud ringing inside his eardrums. He blinked his eyes to clear them from the after-flash of the lightning bolt.

Through the ringing in his ears and the momentary blindness, Vincent thought he heard something. Alien voices on the edge of his hearing. His eyes had tricked him, now his hearing was too. Images formed from the after-flash of the lightning.

The images surprised him.

Deformed beings of lightning that sparked and fizzed, twisted metal that hulked upward, even flames that seemed much closer to him. They spoke in a language that Vincent had never heard of. Through the ringing in his ears he thought he understood some of the phrases spoken. _Not dead. Must kill. Must DIE!_

Vincent shook his head and fully stood up. He scanned the ground for his car keys, blinking his eyes continuously, and found them a few feet away from where he dropped. Leaning against the side of his car, he waited for his vision to clear.

The main lobby of the Motel Six was smashed, the giant number reducing the area to rubble. People walked outside, curiosity and fear fueling their actions. Vincent stared at the destruction. The sky rumbled and lightning flashed as it transferred from cloud to cloud. Rain began to fall from the darkened skies.

He felt vulnerable, out in the open, an easy target: Easy _prey_. Instinct over-rode his mind and he fumbled with his car keys. He had to hide. To run. To find a safe place. Sliding the keys in and unlocking the door he dropped in the seat. Just as he turned the key in the ignition, he gunned the engine.

The Oldsmobile's tires spun-out as Vincent's foot hit the floorboard.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, after nearly running two red lights and within inches of colliding with a family sedan, Vincent pulled into the parking lot of a cheap hotel. He sat in his car for several minutes, catching his breath. His heart beat hard against his chest as sweat trickled down his forehead.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Vincent began to calm down. His mind began to work again, rational thought suppressing primal instincts.

_What…,_ his mind asked. _Just happened? Why'd I run? There were people that needed help and I just… I just ran._

Vincent sat in his car, the rain pounding on the top of the Oldsmobile. A hollow sound against the metal frame. His mind tried to comprehend what he had just done. Fear was a powerful motivator, and Vincent had only been that scared once before in his life.

He shook his head, shoving the memory aside and focusing on his current predicament. Looking, wide-eyed and still in a sense of shock, he stared at the neon sign through the sheets of water rolling down the windows. He stared in a dumbfounded state of mind for several moments before he turned and grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat.

Walking inside the main office, he got a key for the room. Unlocking the door, he turned on the light and gave the room a once-over.

The plaster on the walls was starting to peal off, the bathroom had seen better days, and there was still trash in the trashcan from the last occupant. At this point in time, Vincent didn't care. It was the early afternoon, but his brain was taxed and he needed his mind clear and working. The bar still needed to be investigated, and Vincent planned for that night.

He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, pealed off his trench coat and dropped onto the bed. His mind relaxed, adrenaline rush wore off, and the sense of safety washing over him. He was hidden from whatever it was that was after him, and deep inside his soul, he _knew_ something was after him.

Something alien. Something that he could never comprehend.

As the thunderstorm raged outside, Vincent Nelson slept.

* * *

Night descended upon Denver, the sun setting behind the Rocky Mountains. Stars lit up the clear sky after the storm, and the lights from the city dimmed them to obscurity. The moon was a small sliver in the night sky, a waning crescent moon.

Driving through the streets of Denver was a dirty, green, van. The engine roared and ached as it threatened to die on the driver and passengers.

Sitting in the driver's seat was a young man. In his mid-twenties, the man had long, light brown, hair. Several strands were tied in beads and hair-ties. With a chiseled jaw, shadows hung around his eyes. Bristles of facial hair protruded along his jaw line. An over-sized army jacket hung off his shoulders and mostly covered up the light gray t-shirt underneath it. Loose and worn jeans covered his legs and combat boots on his feet.

Elias Winterborn drove the beat-up van through the streets of Denver. This van wasn't his, nor any of his packmates. He fought the engine as it threatened to quit stopping at the red light. His eyes glanced over to the other occupants of this van.

Sitting next to Elias, with her arms crossed, was a black woman by the name of Kalila Bleeding-Edge. Beads and jewelery wrapped around her neck, wrists, and tied at the loose ends of her dreadlocks. Two single braids were covered in beads, each with a crescent moon piece at the base and tip. She was wearing only an undone light green vest, with leather arm-wraps around her biceps. Kalila wore no undershirt. Her pants were black, low cut, and had embroidered circuitry schematics along the outside of her thighs.

Kalila's eyes were a strange mix at the moment. One a normal deep brown, the other was veiled in the color of the night sky. Small pinpoints of light reflected within the indigo eye. Kalila was using a Gift, a spiritual ability taught to her by spirits of her birth moon. She saw the _other side_, the Realm of Spirits, the _Hisil_. The empty cross street was a cross-road of spirit activity in the Shadow Realm. Eerie embodiments of loneliness and entrapment roamed the sidewalks, and larger spirits that looked like chimeras stomped through the streets, sending the smaller spirits scattering like cockroaches. Right now, she was the only one who could see it.

"The Shadow is a mess," Kalila commented, a tone of anger in her voice as her eye faded to its normal color. "There aren't enough packs in Denver."

"Despite the fact that Gurdilag was defeated a year ago, having _Uratha_ return to Denver is proving… problematic." Kalila looked back into the back half of the van. Dana, Heartsblood, and Doomwise used the back floorboard as a seat.

Heartsblood sat with his legs crossed, wearing no shoes and baggy carpenter jeans. His t-shirt had a wolf on the front, stalking forward within a rectangle. A beaded necklace decorated with five large claws, colored black and slightly digging into his shirt. Wild and unkempt light brown hair hung in front of his eyes. Dark eyes looked back at Kalila as Heartsblood held a small staff in his muscular hands.

"Heartsblood's words speak true," Doomwise added.

The white-haired woman sat across from Heartsblood, clasping a wolf-skull within her lap. Her fingers rested on the top of the skull as she leaned against the wall of the van. She was wearing a long flowing robe of light blue.

"Whatever is going on in Denver," said Dana, lying on her side near the rear doors. "It'll bleed under our claws. Everything else does." A smirk split the young woman's face. She was Native American, Apache in decent, and a red bandanna wrapped around her forehead.

Dana Knife-to-the-Back was an attractive female, despite the scars that cross-checked their way up her forearms. She wore gauntlets on her hands, wrapped in leather, fabric, and bone. An over-sized red jacket with low-riding pants wrapped around her hips. The belt was segmented, each intricately carved and marked with designs. She wore sandals and had fabric wrapped around her heel, ankle and up her calf. Her long hair was tied up in a tight braid. A necklace of oval gems and metal hung from her neck.

The van jerked and the engine strained as Elias hit the gas pedal.

"Have you been able to figure out the dream at all?" Elias asked as he drove. As the pack alpha, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety and survival of his pack. Even when Doomwise was so frantic about the impact the dream had, Elias was reluctant to drive through five states just to come back to Denver. So far away from their own territory.

"I have, Elias," the white haired beauty replied as she sat, staring out at the Denver sckyline. "There are a few points that stick out as the larger message. The dream showed Denver. What ever trouble is going to start here. Next, the nine figures standing amongst the broken world. They were drinking in the carnage and laughing," she paused. "A horrible laugh."

Kalila scowled. "That could be any number of spirits growing fat off the Essence. You only saw nine?"

"Yes."

The shaman scowled again, thinking of any significance the number held for their seer's dream.

"So whatever is going to happen, is going to be the end of Denver," Dana snorted. "Good riddance if you ask me."

"There's something else. Something I'm unsure of," Doomwise continued. "In the dream I was in Pangea, just before _Urfarah_ howled and brought down the Gauntlet, seperating the spirit and the flesh. The werewolf in my dream also let out a howl. It was different, and yet, the same."

"How so?" Heartsblood was curious. They had all received a retelling of Doomwise's dream back in Chicago before they decided to head to Denver. Doomwise had time to think it over.

"Father Wolf's was more sorrowful and dying. But the werewolf's... was different. It drowned out the laughing and seemed to be more enraged, and a call to battle." She struggled to explain. "There's something about them. I think they're from the same being."

"So you think, that the werewolf in your dream, is Father Wolf reborn?" Elias shook his head. "It's not possible. Is it?"

"If he came back, he would come back at the place where his resonance would be strongest. Maybe the deepest forests or the birth place of all wolves," Kalila pitched in. "He wouldn't come back as one of his children."

"I understand that," Doomwise replied. "I still think that the werewolf in my dream and Father Wolf are one and the same."

"Doomwise's visions have had great weight before. Her vision of the conflict with Gurdilag, and other disasters have proven the accuracy of her dreams. If she thinks Father Wolf will return, then we should listen. And what of the moon?" Heartsblood changed the subject, or else there was going to be an argument between their shaman and seer.

Doomwise thought on it, collecting her thoughts. "It starts from new, then moves through all the phases to full before it blinded me and I awoke."

"So..." Dana said. "We have a month to stop this? The new moon's only in a few days away."

"I'm not sure what the moon means. Starting on the new moon could mean that we need to be in Denver then."

The van passed by a wrecked hotel, the giant six was crashed into a pile of rubble. Emergency vehicles surrounded the parking lot, their lights flashing. Firemen dug up debris and pulled bodies out. News vans had reporters on the scene, televising the incident to the world.

"Which is why we're back here," Kalila chipped in, a hint of egotism in her words. "Someone needs to remind the spirits who's in charge."

"Yeah yeah," Dana said. "We all know that Doomwise is the precious prohpet of the _Uratha_. I still don't see why we have to come back to this hellhole because she had a nightmare."

There was silence in the van: Doomwise glared at Dana, hatred and anger in her eyes. Everyone could feel the anger pulsing towards the surface within the werewolf.

The albino woman used every bit of willpower she could muster to maintain control of her anger: her **Rage**. She felt it build up within her, and she forced herself to keep her emotions under control.

"Dana! That's enough," Elias's cold voice said. Frustration rose within him as well. Being the alpha of this pack took its toll on his patience, especially with Dana's remarks and gusto. At least she had the guts to say what the pack was thinking.

This wasn't their territory, or their fight. They were responsible for their own hunting grounds back in Chicago, which they left on a moments notice, barely getting a trusting pack to watch over it for them. Chicago had it's own issues to deal with, and Elias' pack couldn't spend its time running around just because Doomwise said so.

But.

Doomwise had been right about her dreams before. Every time she was given a dream from Luna, the moon goddess, it was detailed, vivid, and accurate to a tee. Last time she dreamed of Denver, a massive battle erupted between the few werewolf packs left and the god-spirit Gurdilag. Of course, their pack had been in the thick of it, helping out with the spiritual guerrilla warfare, up to the final battle against the spirit.

They were lucky they had walked away in the end.

The van drove down Denver's streets, silence in the air. Elias pulled into a hotel, parking right next to a golden-tan car with an antennae sticking on the roof.

Turning off the engine, Elias opened the door and stepped outside. The air was filled with the scent of smog, discarded food, and garbage as he stretched his sore legs.

"I'll get us a room for the night. Dana'" he looked back at her, leaning against the van's back doors. "You're on first watch, until I relieve you."

"Sure," Dana said as she opened the van doors.

"Doomwise, Kalila, take the beds. Me and Heartsblood will use the floor."

"My, my, my," Kalila stated as she hopped out of the van and onto the pavement. "Generous aren't we Elias?"

Elias rolled his eyes as he headed for the hotel's lobby. He knew Kalila was getting his goat, and acting her usual self. Doomwise and Heartsblood exited the van, leaving Dana in the back where she readied herself. Dana stayed in the back of the van, her hand close to a spear longer than she was tall.

"Sleep tight. Don't let the _sharatha_ bite," she teased as she held the doors to the van.

"Knowing you're out here," Doomwise replied. "We couldn't be in better hands."

Dana let a smirk break her lips. Even though she had just waved off Domwise's vision as a mere than a nightmare, the seer still had respect for the woman. Of course, fighting side by side against nightmarish hells would still make a begrudging respect between people that didn't care for each other.

Sure, Dana didn't like Doomwise. The seer's visions and dreams always meant trouble, not just for her pack, but for entire cities. But Dana had seen her knowledge of the spirits to be invaluable, and her dreams _were_ accurate. They were also bound by pack. Even if Dana hated Doomwise, she would still be honor-bound to protect and help her.

Dana knew that Doomwise had brought them to Denver for a reason, and that reason might shake the foundation of _Uratha_ society if her thoughts on Father Wolf returning were true. She respected Doomwise, begrudgingly. Just never showed it to the seer's face. In a way, she was jealous of the attention Doomwise received. That and her dreams were never a simple fix.

As she sat and watched the windows. She could felt something. The Spirit World was active around her, but she couldn't tell why. Perhaps Kalila would know more about it. Dana was an _Irraka_, changed while the moon was new and Luna hidden. A stalker ahead of the pack, she could move unseen. She could also perceive the happenings of the spirit almost better than Kalila. She may have been able to sense the Shadow, but wasn't the best schooled to interpret what she felt.

The _Irraka_ looked up at the moon as it continued its centuries old cycle. She didn't care for Luna. In a way it reminded her of her own mother, never there for her when Dana needed her. The others could see the moon during their birth phase, but never her. It annoyed Dana. She knew Luna was up there, but just couldn't be seen. Afraid to show herself to the world.

She positioned herself to keep watch over her pack mates, sleeping inside the motel. Dana would keep them safe on her watch. Even if Luna refused to show herself, slinking away to the darkness, Dana would defend her pack with her life.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 2: The Bloodless Lover_

_Prey._

_Prey was in front of him. He could smell their scent. Their blood. Their fear. His feet crunched the barren earth beneath him as strong, steady, strides pushed him forward. Breaths came in gasps as he felt his lungs burn with excitement and exertion._

_The horizon was a long stretch of colorless cracked grey mud. It didn't matter, their prey was ahead, and would not escape._

_Their. Yes. He wasn't alone in this hunt. Others hunted with him. A pack. Wolves of his own ilk, running and shifting with him. He was proud of them, like a father should be._

_The world shifted around them as they ran with the wind. A lush blue sky of creative energy flowing through them as the scent strengthen. Then a darker sky of purple and blue, full of hunger and need. Wind rustled around them, allowing this pack to follow the scent. Farther and farther while lightning bolts rained from the skies above, answered by bolts from the distance._

_He felt young. Strong. In his prime._

_As the hunt continued, he felt his strength drain away. His vision was clouded, senses dulled, even his breaths became ragged, shallow. The pack started to turn on him, snarling and snapping. Their growls were of disdain, muttering curses of weakness at him. They were turning on him, even as he snarled back, keeping them in line._

_They had none of it._

_Suddenly the hunter, was the hunted. His own children turned on him, slashing with claw and fang. Shapeshifting as their mother did in the night sky. Claws ripped at his flanks as teeth gripped his legs, rearing back. He did not stand there and take it, for he lashed out as well. Clawing and biting with his inner Rage. If he were to fall, he would fall fighting tooth and claw._

_His ilk fell and rose again, slashing at him with determination. He felt a sense of pride as they continued in the fight, desperate to do what they thought was right. Pride mixed with anger as he bit through flesh and fur, clawed through bone and sinew._

_But it was a losing battle._

_One of his children got in close, clasping their jaws around his gullet. Teeth pierced through the flesh of his neck, deep and hard. Blood caught in his mouth, his windpipe punctured, mouth opened in a silent roar. Then his child ripped back, taking out a mouthful of fur, cartilage, and flesh._

_He was dying. He knew it. His children had brought him down. With his dying breaths he forced air into his lungs. With the last of his strength he reared his head back, unleashing a powerful howl of sorrow and rage. The wolf who had torn his throat was too close, the soul ripped from the body as the landscape shattered and broken from his death howl._

* * *

Vincent woke himself up with the sound of his own yell. Eyes wide with fear, he sprang up a hand to his throat, checking for blood, trying to keep it from falling apart. Sweat soaked his clothes, clinging hair to his forehead. His had felt his neck, patting it, checking for where his neck had been ripped open and spat out.

Nothing. Vincent's neck was fine.

Fear clouded his mind. As he let out ragged gasps of exhaustion, he looked where he was at, forgotten in the horrors of his dream. Confused, his head turned and looked at everything around him.

He was in a hotel room. A bad one. Sheets of the bed thrown onto the floor. A dirty mirror looking back at him from behind the television. The peeling wallpaper illuminated by the yellow glow of the lamp as cracks spread out from the corners like spiderwebs. His duffel-bag was resting on the floor where he dropped it, his trench coat resting next to it in a crumbled mess.

Rolling on to his rear, Vincent stared at nothing. The memory of the dream still burned in his mind. Running like an animal through a barren landscape, hunting something, then becoming the hunted and fighting wolves at every turn. Until his throat was ripped out. Vincent ran his hands through his hair, confused and horrified at his latest nightmare.

He stood up and headed for the bathroom, stripping his sweat-soaked shirt off and dropping it on the floor. Vincent turned the water on and washed his face.

Vincent had been plagued by nightmares for the last month. Each time the dreams became more vivid and terrifying. By all accounts, nightmares like the ones Vincent had experienced should take their toll. After every dream, however, he was restless, full of energy. It was bothering him and he made a mental note to go see a psychiatrist the moment he returned home.

His pants and belt hit the floor as he stepped into the shower. Vincent couldn't go to a bar looking like he just ran a marathon, and there was work to be done.

* * *

Elias stood against the side of the van. He had relieved Dana half an hour ago.

His arms were held crossed against his chest as he looked out through the parking lot. Elias had several things on his mind, the main one was Doomwise's vision.

The young alpha of his pack, Elias was still getting used to the responsibilities of leading a group of werewolves. He tried to remain strong, steadfast, and confident in order to uphold the tenants of his Tribe. His pack's territory was back east, in Chicago, but now Doomwise had brought them back to Denver.

Straight out of his own tribal initiation, Elias met the others of his pack. Together they traveled from Denver and headed east, trying to find their true place. They found it was Chicago. However Doomwise received her dreams and visions regarding Colorado, so they returned to aide in the battle against Gurdilag.

He almost died in that fight, the massive spirit tore the Shadow Realm asunder before he was finally brought down by two cooperating packs. Elias and his own returned to Chicago to lick their wounds and fortify their territory. That was before Doomwise foretelling _Urfarah_'s return. This vision meant more to their pack than just a legend reborn, it meant that there was a possibility for the _Uratha_ to reclaim their birthright and be forgiven.

If Doomwise was correct on its interpretation.

The bad news was Elias' pack was dysfunctional at times. Dana and Kalila both had sharp tongues and ferocious tempers, Heartsblood was calm and collected in almost every situation, and Doomwise had a calming, but condescending aura around her. Dana's earlier comment nearly sent Doomwise into a frenzy, risking all their lives with a smart-ass remark. Elias knew that Dana wasn't stupid, just blunt.

His pack was miss-matched, but somehow managed to work.

He sighed, looking up at the night sky. The moon was shifting further from his own. Elias was a _Rahu_, a warrior born in the light of Luna as a full moon. He held his inner Rage that boiled near the surface carefully, with control. The Full Moons were often thought of as the first to charge into a fight, teeth and claws at the ready to tear their enemies apart. Elias had downed his fair share of enemies, and was often shocked at how effective he was in the chaos of battle. His impulsiveness had been pushed farther back, fighting with his restraint. The _Rahu_ would have backhanded Dana himself with her remark. Rage was still boiling under the surface.

"_Something troubles you, Elias?_"

Elias nearly jumped out of his skin. He twirled to face the voice with eyes of blazing anger. The young man felt his body ache and burn, the sound of tearing muscle and cracking bone filling the immediate area. Sinew warped and mended as bones grew and twisted, increasing his height by half a foot. Muscle bulged against his shirt and jacket, even Elias' face had become more angular and lupine with tufts of hair growing from his jaw. He had shapeshifted to another form, _Dalu_, the Rage behind his eyes burned as he glared at the sound of the voice, ready for a fight.

A shadow moved out from behind the van. The wolf was partially hidden by the shadow of the van itself, even the neon lights of the hotel didn't fully expose it. Elias recognized the wolf. Heartsblood was in his _Urhan_ form, and had managed to sneak out when the alpha hadn't noticed. Elias composed himself before returning to his normal form, the sensation of his transformation like a wave of needle pricks of a limb gone to sleep.

"You should be sleeping," he said, leaning against the van. "Go inside and rest."

Heartsblood stayed, motionless within the shadow created by the van in the hotel's light. Golden eyes looked back at his alpha as the werewolf remained hidden

"_Sleep is unimportant,_" the wolf replied with a symphony of growls. "_When our sleeping place is vulnerable_" Heartsblood was speaking in the First Tongue. A conglomeration of growls and snarls that Elias could understand. The First Tongue was difficult to learn, but at the same time it was barely understandable without any training. Ideas, or implications of what a spirit said were understood, even if the exact wording was lost. Humans were unable to understand it, which made conversations between werewolves much easier.

Elias frowned. _Allow no one to see or tend to your weakness,_ was a rule, a ban that he lived to uphold. Another addition to a greater oath. In his frustration Elias's calm manner had burned away, and he fought his anger back. His ban would not be broken from a moment's weakness in composure, but he would make up for it later.

Werewolf society was at the surface simple, but deeper down it was more complex. The wolves that shared similar ideals formed tribes, headed by a powerful spirit patron. The pack had a member of every tribe represented, and each tribe had their own ban to uphold. Elias was a Storm Lord, a tribe that considered themselves leaders among werewolves. While he didn't need to be alpha of this pack, his skills in battle and natural leadership made him a good choice. Even his decisions were respected by the pack for being sensible amidst their inner fury.

Heartsblood, on the other hand, belonged to the Hunters in Darkness. A different tribe with a different ban. The Hunters were stalkers of the night, the forefront of what a werewolf was. They could strike fast and then slink into the shadows like whispers on the wind. In essence, they were the werewolves of human legend, always hiding and stalking their prey. He lived with _Allow no sacred place in your territory be violated_, and was awake doing just that.

Unlike Elias or Dana, Heartsblood had changed while Luna was a half-moon. An _Edoloth_, he acted as judge and negotiator between packs and spirits. He was also more affected by the phase of the moon, many of his personality quirks shifted. Right now, he had scoured the pack's current resting place, silent as a shadow. Hunting for anything that could pose a danger.

Elias looked away from the werewolf, so not to draw attention to the hunter in the shadows. "How is the area?"

The wolf was silent for a moment. "_Quiet, for the most part. There is something however._"

"What is it?"

"_The Shadow is fluctuating. I felt it just a little bit ago. Very strong._"

The hairs on Elias' neck rose. "A spirit?"

"_No, it's not strong enough to be a spirit. It's too chaotic. Comes and goes. But it's close._"

Elias didn't like that. Among all the things the pack had to deal with, this was another he didn't have time for. A spirit could be dealt with, although with Kalila and Doomwise sleeping inside the room it would be difficult. Same for any of their other usually prey. But now wasn't the time to be looking for a brawl. Despite the urge to unleash his fury, Elias had to temper his inner Rage. He had to think.

"How close?"

"_Very,_" the wolf spoke again.

* * *

Vincent dried his hair in front of the mirror. It was from his bag, and he trusted it more than he the hotel's. He let it drape on his shoulders as he looked into the mirror. His hand whipped away the condensation from the steam and he saw himself.

Green eyes looked back at him from under long black bangs of wet hair. He sighed.

Vincent still looked like he had just woken up, red lining the whites of his eyes. He shook his head, the long wave of hair sending water droplets all over the bathroom. Bracing himself, his hair flying in every direction like a dog shaking himself dry.

Looking back up, he saw his reflection and grumbled under his breath. "You've seen better nights."

He stared into his reflection. Eyes glancing over his face before staring into his eyes. There he stared, into the reflection of his own eyes. The mix of structures within his iris caught his attention as he leaned in closer. There was something about it as he stared at himself.

It wasn't fog at the edges of the mirror, it was dirt and grime. Even with condensation distorting his reflection, it didn't look right either. It was like looking through a dirty window at someone else, staring back. The eyes of his reflection seemed to shift on their own, changing to a golden yellow.

Vincent jumped back from the mirror as his reflection shifted for an instant. He caught a glimpse of fur and feral eyes, staring at him like a lion eying an antelope. His back hit the wall, but the image was gone. The mirror, however, was still there. Not covered with moisture, it was dirty and caked with frost.

That was the only similarity.

He looked around as Vincent noticed the edges of the mirror weren't the same color as they had been. They were dark black, unlike the original tarnished gold. With a startling realization, Vincent knew he wasn't in the hotel's bathroom anymore.

Vincent was leaning against the wall of a large corridor, just as wide as the bathroom had been. The walls stretched up to the sky, disappearing into darkness. On the ground, they seemed to go on for miles. He pressed himself up against the wall, wide eyed with shock and confusion.

"What... where..," he muttered as he tried to figure out where he was.

The walls were slick with a dark red ichor, sticking to Vincent's hands and bare back. Dark grey mixed with shadows up along the sides like twisted vines. The shadows themselves seemed to move with a life of their own, long tendrils slithering on the sides. Scents flowed into his nostrils like faint memories, flowing through every fiber.

Scents of blood, mold, musk, ozone, and cold metal mixed together in a revolting concoction that made Vincent double over, gagging. He hit the floor coughing, gagging on the scent itself. Then came the sound of drums. A deep rhythmic thumping pulsed through his mind and body, matching the pace of his quickening heartbeat.

He heard voices too. Just as faint as the smells, but getting louder. Spoken in words and phrases he didn't comprehend. Vincent pushed himself up, the fear and bile rising in his stomach. He closed his eyes to shut out his surroundings, voices, and smells. Vincent didn't know how long he was like that, on the ground keeping his eyes closed, but the sounds and smells faded away.

Carefully he opened his eyes. He found himself on the bathroom floor. With a glance around, he double checked to make sure the walls where what they appeared to be

Pressing his hand against the wall, he felt a cold squish. A chill ran through Vincent as he pulled his hand back, trails of the dark ichor thinning between his hand and the hand print now on the wall.

An urge came to sniff the substance. He brought the hand close to his nose and inhaled deeply through his nose. The scent was odd, but what he did next was even weirder. He licked it.

Blood.

It was blood, fresh but eerily cold. Vincent pulled his head back, trying to wipe it off on his towel. Franticly wiping it off, he looked at his hand again. As he tried to focus on it, the substance faded away, revealing a clean hand underneath.

Confused he looked over his hand. Turning it over looking for the liquid. But it was gone. Vincent turned towards the wall where the print had been made. Other than the cracks and peeling wallpaper, it was bare.

Vincent sat there for a few minutes. He could feel his heart pounding. Staring at nothing, wide eyed at what just happened. Had he dreamed it all? Was there something in the water? Or was he just losing his mind.

Standing up, he looked into the mirror. Looking back at himself, he tried to see if the same thing would happen. It didn't.

After calming himself down, he walked to the bed and retrieved the Book from his thngs. Vincent wanted to write the experience down in his book, to record it some how. He was blessed with an attentive mind, a photographic memory. Allowing him to remember every dream in scary detail. Only, _This wasn't a dream_, he hoped. It had more substance to it. The sensations sent a fear and shock through him that was primal in nature. Besides, the dreams hadn't made him double over and nearly vomit.

He wrote several sentences, just a summary of the experience. Later he could recall the sensations and feelings associated with it. Holding the Book and what he had written he secretly wondered if he _was_ losing his mind.

Pushing the memory of the experience to the side of his mind, he changed into a clean shirt and black jeans, Vincent began preparations for the night. Slipping the leather holster onto his belt and placed the cylinder inside after a once-over. His trench-coat was the next on and placing the sai inside the special straps along the inner lining. Last was the Book, which was inserted into an inner pocket along with a pen. He also nabbed his flashlight and an extra pen.

Still jarred over the experience, Vincent took a deep breath. Throwing the rest of his things into the duffel bag, he grabbed the hotel key and opened the door.

* * *

"_Did you feel that?_" Heartsblood asked, his ears perked up.

Elias responded with a silent nod.

It had been a ripple of spiritual power, emanating from somewhere around the hotel. The barrier between the spirit and the flesh was nonexistent for a few seconds, and it sent chills up the two werewolves' spines. Something was inside the hotel, and it was strong enough to send out a shock wave of energy.

The Storm Lord wondered if Kalila had felt it as well, even though she was asleep in the room. He considered waking her as her knowledge on spirits and those that affected the shadow would be useful. Or Doomwise for that matter.

He was about to go and get one of them when he saw a door open a few rooms down from where his pack was sleeping. A human walked out. His black hair had a sheen of moisture as he walked to the car. The man glanced around the parking lot, locking eyes with Elias.

Staring at the man, the _Rahu_ naturally let off an air of dominance mixed with the inner hunter. All werewolves did. Humans could sense the predator essence of a werewolf, and often enough they just avoid them. The stare must have lasted moments for the man looking into Elias' eyes, but there was more behind the stranger's eyes. Another chill ran up the Storm Lord's spine.

The man broke eye-contact, nervous, before getting into the tan car the pack had parked next too. With the ignition, the car left the parking lot, leaving Elias watching it pull away.

"Heartsblood," the alpha said quietly, realization on his voice.

Heartsblood walked out from the shadows he had retreated to.

"_Yes,_" the wolf replied. "_I felt it too._"

"_Nuzusul._" Elias said as he walked to the room the man and exited.

* * *

_Mystique_ was a small place, situated with the doorway facing an alley, a small red neon sign flickering in the night air. Vincent had left his car out on the street, locking it and starting his search for the bar. A group of bikers were on the opposite side of the street, their motorcycles roaring in the road. As he walked along, Vincent used his flashlight to illuminate the area. A lit cigarette in his mouth, he carefully made his way down the darkened alley.

The stench of garbage, smog, and human waste met his nose. Wrinkling his nostrils, Vincent continued along the alley. His eyes darted, watching the piles of discarded plastic, food, and cardboard. The end of his cigarette glowed as he inhaled, nicotine flowing through his system.

Smoke exited through Vincent's nostrils, hanging in the air behind him. It was a nasty habit, but with the stress lately, it was helping him relax and focus his mind. His boots splashed through puddles that were left after the thunderstorm that afternoon.

Vincent walked up to the neon sign that indicated _Mystique_'s entrance. He stood there, getting the last few drags out of the cigarette.

Something moved at the edge of his peripheral vision and his head spun towards it.

Nothing.

Vincent could swear that he saw something. It was about cat-sized, only, it hadn't moved like a cat. He watched the area, trying to check for something. Standing motionless, barely breathing as his eyes scanned the alley.

His cigarette down to the filter, Vincent flicked it into a puddle, the embers sizzling as it hit the liquid. Rolling up his coat collar, Vincent entered _Mystique_.

The bar itself was small, illuminated in a low-light. A fog hung on the air, mixed smoke from cigarettes, cigars, and incense. Several tables were empty, the people taking the wall seats. The female bartender stood behind the counter, mixing an order of drinks for the customers.

Vincent guessed the ages of the customers as he scanned the place. Mostly men and a few women dressed in black and silver-toned jewelry. They looked like they were either freshman in college, or high-school seniors. _None of them 21, I bet_.

The place did have a gothic feel to it. Dark portraits of gargoyles, fairies, witches, and dragons covered the walls. Symbols of skulls, magic circles, and the occult hung from the ceiling. In ways, it resembled a dark gothic Applebee's. If they had one of these at home, Vincent probably would have frequented it.

He went down three steps to the floor of _Mystique_ and walked up to the counter, taking a seat.

"What can I getcha hun?" the bartender asked.

"Water," Vincent replied.

"Designated driver?"

"Something like that."

Vincent glanced around the bar as the woman readied his drink. He strained his ears to listen to the other customers. Quiet mumbling and a few giggles from the girls were all that he could pick up.

"Do you know who you're waitin' for?" she asked.

He looked up as he took his drink in hand. "Now why do you say that?"

"Well hun," the tender explained. "You walk in here alone, look around the room for a few seconds, and then come straight to the bar. Either you don't know where you are, or the people you're meeting haven't showed yet."

"Actually," Vincent replied with a muffled voice while an ice cube rolled around inside his mouth. "I am looking for some people." The ice crunched between his molars as he chewed. Crushing the ice wasn't just a mannerism, it was something to keep his stomach from growling. He hadn't eaten since getting the room, and could feel the rumble inside him.

"Oh yeah?" the bartender remarked as she shuffled glasses around near the shelves behind the counter.

Vincent dug around for the Book and the newspaper clippings he had collected with photos and descriptions of the missing people. Alice Fischer's picture was sitting on the top.

"Have you seen these people?" he asked.

She picked up the clippings, looked at each picture before handing it back. "Sorry hun," she leaned on the counter and looked him in the eye. "You some sort of cop?"

Vincent placed the papers back into the Book. "Not really," he replied.

"Look hon," the bartender said in a low voice. "I keep my nose clean. If you're another one tryin' to dig up dirt on my place I'll tell you just what I told the others. I use natural incense. I can show you the receipt from the shop I bought it from."

"Whoa there," Vincent replied after sipping his drink. "I'm a private investigator. I'm not looking to bust you."

"Gum shoe huh? Regular Sherlock Holmes." She replied, smirking.

"Favorite hero," he stated, resting his empty glass on the counter. "Do you have any regulars? Especially any that stopped showing?"

She stopped rearranging glasses and the bottles in the back and turned around to face him.

"Most of my regulars haven't shown yet. Too early for them."

Vincent looked at his watch. _Too early?_ It was past midnight.

The incense was weighing on Vincent's nostrils. After time one could get used to the mixed scents, but his nose was irritated. He scratched his wrinkled nose as he drank his fourth glass of water, refills coming after he finished eating the ice. A snort came out of his nose as Vincent tried to clear the smell out of his sinuses.

His eyes glanced back at the group still in the establishment. They were drinking and chatting amongst themselves.

Vincent glanced over at the sound of a door opening.

"There's one of them now," the bartender stated as she mixed drinks.

Entering in through the front door was a woman, with curled, blazing, red hair. She was attractive, with a thin face, small nose and deep green eyes. She was curvy, not in an exaggerated way, but enough to make her alluring A slit started from the left hip of her dark purple dress, exposing a long soft leg. Her feet donned with a pair of black heels.

She smiled a softly, and Vincent realized that he was staring at her. Blushing he turned away and looked at the wall behind the counter.

Vincent listened for the woman's footfalls as she made her way towards the bar. She took a seat next to him, silent, sending a shiver through him.

_I didn't hear her footsteps_, he thought, slightly unnerved.

"Hello Danielle," the barkeep's voice snapped Vincent back to reality.

"Good evening Harst," the woman replied. "My usual please."

If Vincent thought she was beautiful, her voice made her sound like an angel. A soft tone of sensuality mixed with a breathy answer. He tried to stay focused, keeping his mind on his case and out of his pants.

"Danielle, this is a private investigator looking for the missing people," the bartender stated before she went off for Danielle's order.

"A private investigator, hmm," she said, nearly purring in Vincent's ear. He noticed her leaning towards him.

Vincent wasn't much of a ladies man. The cues of dating was lost to him since in the time he spent researching or solving cases. So he did the only thing he could.

Learn fast.

"My name's Vincent," he said turning to face her, nearly having to force the words out.

Danielle smiled at him, that sweet smile. "A pleasure to meet you Vincent." He blushed again.

There was an odd silence for a moment. Vincent didn't know what was wrong with him. He thought that because he wasn't date savvy he would be able to learn off cues that he had never experienced. First, that was a bad idea. Second, there was a feeling burning inside him, drawing him towards his new feminine friend.

"So," Danielle said in a low voice. "You aren't going to ask about the missing people?"

Vincent mentally shook his head. He was losing it, and he had to keep focused.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, I'm just not used to…" he started.

"Talking to women?" she finished for him. "Awe, that's sweet. A detective who's shy."

"Yeah, well," Vincent replied. "I'm not used to Denver, so I'm getting acustomed."

"I could imagine," she said as Harst brought Danielle her drink.

He did have a job to do. "So Miss Danielle," Vincent said, opening the Book. "Were you here four days ago?"

She looked at the book, sticky notes poking out of pages as he flipped through them looking for a blank page.

"I was here, from about one to two, then I went out with some acquaintances. At about four in the morning I went home."

"Their names," he said glancing up at her. His heart beating against his chest. "To check your alibi."

"Now Mr. Vincent," she purred at him, using a nail to play with one of the sticky notes. "Am I a suspect?"

"At this point, everyone in and around Denver is," he replied. Vincent flipped through the Book digging around for the clippings he showed Harst earlier. He handed one to Danielle. "Did you see her when you were here?"

She looked at it, trying to recall the face.

"Hmm," she said after a moment. "I'm not sure. It's possible that she was here. This place was very lively that night."

"She was in here with three of her friends. This one was wearing a black dress with white frills along the low collar. Two necklaces, one a picture locket. Her earrings were metallic crosses with a small crystal in the middle. Her hair was pulled back into two pig-tails with white lace. Her friends were also dressed like that" Vincent looked at her, trying to keep his mind clear. He was drawn to her as she ran a finger around the edge of her glass, looking in his eyes.

The feeling, the _need_ came back to him. It was tugging at him, pulling the strings of his mind. Vincent fought it back. He was trying to get information out of this woman who might know something. He had to stay focused. The feeling was strong and getting stronger.

He and Danielle made small talk for several minutes. Moving to a table towards the far wall. Vincent wasn't bugging her too much about the night in question. She was alluring, bringing him in. There was something about her, Vincent had decided, something that made him want to be with her. The best he could describe the feeling was a physical desire, a great lust roaring inside him. He needed Danielle, and he needed her now.

The door slammed open and they both turned to the front door.

A gang of bikers, the ones from the street, Vincent recalled, stomped inside the bar. They were dressed in leather with jeans, various haircuts, and builds.

The first one inside, the leader, was heavy-set. His torn black shirt was tucked into his jeans, a thick leather belt holding his pants up. A leather jacket covered his torso while his heavy boots stomped the floor. He looked around the room through sunglasses and his gaze settled on Danielle.

"Danielle!" he shouted with a booming voice. "What are you doing here sweet-thing?" He made his way towards them, pushing tables aside. Some of the gang crowded the girls at the tables, and the others demanded drinks from Harst.

"Why Ripper," she replied as the large man neared them. "What are you doing back in town?"

"Just had to show the other gangs that this is still our turf." He leaned over and Vincent could smell the car oil and grease filling his nostrils. "Was hoping you would be up for some fun with us again?" He put a large hand on her shoulder.

Something started to stir within Vincent. Jealousy? Anger? Or a mix of both? _She's mine, big boy_, he thought, glaring at the biker as he talked to Danielle.

"Ripper," Danielle replied, using her hand to pick his hand off of her shoulder. "I'm not working tonight, so you'll have to find someone else to get your kicks."

As if trying to comprehend the statement, the biker looked down at Vincent, over his shades. "This little boy?" he said, amused. "You know he can't satisfy you like me and my boys can. We'll even pay double the usual rate."

_Pay? Then she's a prostitute_, Vincent looked at Danielle. _That could explain a few things._

Danielle rested her head in one of her hands, thinking. "Hmm, double the usual rate? That is tempting." If she was thinking of something, she was hiding it very well.

The three of them stayed there, the two men waiting for Danielle's answer.

She smiled.

"Okay Ripper, I guess I'll take you up on that offer. I promise I'll show your gang the night of your lives."

There was something in the way she said 'lives' that seemed off from the rest of the sentence. Danielle stood up, her drink sitting untouched on the table.

The sensation of anger started to rise in Vincent as Danielle took Ripper's arm and started to walk to the door. His mind was starting to break. She was a prostitute, probably having so many diseases that just looking at her could condemn you to a hospital bed. Even so, Vincent didn't care. Danielle was his. Vincent could only put the feeling into these words: she's _my_ mate.

"Hold it!" he said loudly, standing so suddenly that the chair he was sitting in crashed to the floor.

Ripper and Danielle stopped, looking at him with a glance that almost said he wasn't worth the trouble.

Vincent swallowed hard, forcing himself to at least speak clearly.

"I believe the lady was with me."

Ripper looked at him, disbelief on his face.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, Danielle was with me," Vincent replied.

Ripper started to walk up to Vincent, the larger man standing tall.

"I don't think you understand the situation here," the large man stated. "Danielle is my gang's property because we can pay for her." He poked Vincent in the chest with a meaty finger. "And you're too scrawny to handle her… hippy."

Danielle smiled to herself and started to slide away to the counter.

"And what makes you think a mountain of flab can handle her any better?"

Vincent and Ripper glared at each other in a dangerous stare-down. Neither was willing to back down. The entire bar watched them in nervous tension. Red flushed Ripper's face as Vincent's defiant eyes glared.

"You little punk!" Ripper shouted, and reached for his knife hanging on his belt. When in hand he thrust forward, aiming for the detective's heart. Vincent's arm was a blur of motion.

Metal clanged on metal and the surprised look on Ripper's face made Vincent smirk.

The biker's knife was resting between the blades of one of Vincent's sai. He held the oriental weapon with the blades pointing awake from his thumbs, deflecting the knife and caught up to the hilt.

"What the hell?" Ripper shouted as he saw that he missed.

Vincent smiled. "Not bad for a _hippy_, huh?"

"Smartass," the large man replied pulling his knife back and aiming a punch for Vincent.

Ripper was surprisingly fast for a man of his size, and Vincent barely had time to react. Drawing on his will, Vincent side-stepped the fist that would have connected with his head. His feet slid along the floor, giving Ripper an opening. The biker thrust with his knife and Vincent moved his other arm.

Metal met metal again as Vincent now held his sai in both hands. The blades caught Ripper's knife, holding it away from Vincent's torso.

He looked up at Ripper and saw the biker red with anger and smirked.

Their weapons hit and deflected. Tables and chairs crashed to the floor as Vincent and Ripper went at each other. A punch hit the detective in his stomach while a kick hit the side of the biker's face. Ripper was as strong as his build suggested, maybe more. Vincent did have something on his side. His flexibility.

The detective's reflexes kept him away from the biker's knife and punches. Being able to duck and weave naturally was helping Vincent stay alive, but it was more than that. He had started this fight, and now he felt like he was thriving on the battle.

Vincent ducked Ripper's thrust and realized too late that the biker had set him up. A fist slammed into his cheek, spun him around. Sending him sprawling on the floor. His sai bounced away from the impact.

"Well hippy," he heard Ripper say as he pushed himself up. "That was a pretty good rumble."

Pushing himself up, Vincent was glaring at Ripper. He could see the glint of the knife in the low-light and the look in the biker's eyes. Vincent was at a dead end. Ripper had the advantage now, he himself was nearly powerless. His lip curled up, exposing clenched teeth while a growl rumbled in his throat.

"Looks like the hippy's more bitch than man. Why don't I put you down?"

Vincent's fingers went ridged, bent as if they had claws. He crouched low to the ground, snarling, his fingers flexed and ready. Ripper looked at him with a smile of a hardened man, ready to kill.

A snarl escaped Vincent's throat as he started acting more animal than man. Instinct flooded his mind. Ripper was more than just a gang banger biker with an attitude. To Vincent he was a rival for Danielle. A rival for his own survival.

"What the hell is wrong with you hippy?" Ripper prodded.

Vincent didn't reply with words. He charged the biker.

A gunshot echoed in the bar, pieces of the floor flew up between the two men.

They stopped in mid step and looked where the projectile had come from. Danielle stood there with a heavy revolver resting in her left hand. The barrel was smoking. The detective started to feel his mind returning back to normal. It was a releif.

"I think that's enough," she said very calmly. Her gaze starred into both of their souls.

"Ripper!" Harst shouted. "You know the rules! No fighting in here!"

Danielle lowered the gun and walked up to Vincent. Taking his arm she looked at Ripper. "Now Ripper dear, I've changed my mind. It appears that Vincent here is more man than you and your friends think." She pulled back the hammer on the revolver, still in her hand, the click very loud in the silent bar. "And I request that you not cause too much more trouble tonight."

Ripper glared at Vincent then at her. He stood there, dumbfounded. Then he turned red with rage. Turning on a heel he stormed out, barking orders at the other members of his gang and pulling one out after him.

When the door slammed shut behind them, the tension in the bar slowly evaporated.

Vincent felt nauseous. He stepped back and managed to slump into a chair. Sweat collected on his forehead, his breath was ragged.

"Hmm," Danielle said softly as she picked up one of Vincent's weapons, looking it over. "I'd never thought you were a decent fighter."

Vincent felt the soreness in his cheek and rubbed it. What had happened? He barely remembered the last few minutes.

"Self-training isn't the best in the world," he said, trying look confident. "But it works."

"I'll say," she replied placing his weapons on the table he was sitting at. "And you were so flexible," she stretched out the 'so' into a purr.

He turned towards her, and blushed fully. Carefully he took the sai and placed them in their holders.

"Thanks," he said pushing himself up in his seat.

"For?"

"Breaking up the fight," Vincent told her. "There was no way I could have survived."

She turned her head. "Oh I don't know about that." She took a seat opposite the table from him. "I would like to know much more about you Vincent."

Looking at her, Vincent stared into Danielle's eyes and forgot all about Alice Fischer.

* * *

"So man," one of the bikers said as they walked away from the totaled remains of a car. "Now what?"

"How the hell should I know?!" Ripper was more than angry he was flat-out pissed. Some newbie punk had come through, and snagged the one reason he actually stopped through Denver. As a biker, the road was his turf, and certain people were his and his gang's. Danielle was one of those _things_ considered his, and she had turned them down. He was mad, frustrated, and wanted some tail.

He grumbled to himself as the rest of his gang walked towards their bikes. When Ripper was in a bad mood, it was best for his gang to avoid talking to him. In past outbursts he had given them a few broken noses and hadn't really cared. After all, it was their fault for getting in his way.

He walked towards his bike and mounted it, glaring at his gang. "Come on fuck-heads, let's go."

"Hey," Greg said, looking around. "Where's Mikey?"

Ripper's temper started rising to the surface. "Where the hell is he?!" he bellowed.

"There he is," someone pointed out.

They watched as the last glimpse of their fellow biker walked down an alley, away from where _Mystique_ was. He was walking down, calmly and barely paying attention, wobbling as he disappeared behind the edge of building.

"Little bastard," Ripper grumbled, sliding off his bike and stomping down the alley. His gang followed him, giving the leader a wide breath. Turning around the corner he yelled down the alley, "MIKEY! Get your ass back… here…"

The biker stopped, staring down the alley. There was a tall, slender woman, with long black hair covering the right half of her face. A revealing black dress with a slit in the side up to above her hips revealed long, thin legs with thigh long stockings. She was leaning against the wall of the building, staring at the other wall. When the biker gang walked into the alley, she turned towards them, a grin on her face.

Ripper could feel the desire inside him rise. Whatever logic and common sense he had was dissolved by a sudden need for this woman. Pulling his pants up he smiled, showing his teeth trying to look as charming as he could.

"Looks like it's not going to be a waste," he muttered to himself.

"Dude!" one of the other members exclaimed, curling his nose. "What's that stench?!"

Ripper wasn't paying attention, his motives were a bit more primal now. He walked up to the woman, trying to act as charming as the gruff biker could be.

"So sweet thing," he said to the woman. "What are you doing all alone?"

She smiled at him, but the smile was _different_.

"Why, just waiting for you of course," she replied with a soft purr to her voice. Something more was within those words, something primal, just begging him to let go of his own restrictions.

"Holy shit!" someone shouted, grabbing Ripper's attention away from the woman who was staring into his eyes. "Boss!"

Annoyed, he turned towards the sound of Greg's outburst, ready to snap at him or break his nose at least. Ripper's eyes went wide as he stared at the new sight before him.

Greg was clawing at his own throat, trying to pull something that was wrapped around his neck. It was long, thin, reflected in the low light like it was covered in liquid. The item was wrapped around Greg's throat three times, and every few seconds Ripper could see it convulse as if something was moving in it. In the shadows behind the struggling man were three sets of small red points that seemed to float in nothing within the darkness.

Two more long tendrils whipped out, lashing around Greg's arm and torso. Two sharp points at the end of every tendril pierced through Greg's leather jacket, latching on. With the extra weight, Greg was pulled onto his stomach, slamming into the ground and then pulled into the shadows. His rasping breaths turned into a death gasp as the floating red points of light floated without a shape around the disappearing man.

Shock forced Ripper onto his butt as he started to crawl backwards away from the red lights that hung in the shadows. His gang was gone, everyone. The entire gang had disappeared, leaving him alone. Hands and feet skidded and slipped against wet concrete as he scrambled backwards into the side of a building, his head hitting the brick wall.

Ripper was afraid. It wasn't just that he was alone, he needed the support of his gang behind him. Of course he had bullied his gang into following, or bribed them with power and protection. Without them, he had no one to blame, no one to help. He was alone, and _that_ scared him more than anything.

The woman never lost her smile as she watched Ripper scramble away in fear. She walked forward, in long steady steps, silent amongst the trash. Leaning forward she brushed against Ripper's face with her hand, turning his head towards her. The woman's face, inches from his, and giving him a good look at her eye.

The woman's face was thin, her cheekbones were showing against her skin. Long hair hung over the right half of her face, covering her right eye. Her left eye was purple and stared into his soul like a beast. So close, he couldn't see himself in her exposed eye. There were markings, tattoos, along the right side of her face and neck. Curved patterns that looked sinister as they twisted, rotated, and arched along her skin. If Ripper was in a clearer state of mind, he could have sworn that the tattoos were moving.

"I told you," she said, getting closer, her lips a mere breath's away. Ripper couldn't even feel her breath. Was she even breathing? He could feel himself being drained as her lips got closer to his. He was afraid, scared, and could feel his very life slip away under her touch. Before her lips met with his, her hair moved, flowing away from her face.

Staring at Ripper was a deformed eye. It wasn't a human eyeball, it was a black orb with veins, skin, and flesh pulled away from it. The orb looked like it wasn't part of the woman's face, and that her skin was growing and pulsing around it. In the center was a bright red light moving around the surface, illuminating him in its glow.

"For you." He tried to scream, but it was a mumbled breath as the woman locked her lips with his. Ripper could feel his will draining as the glowing eye stared into his soul, withering it away.

* * *

"Awe shit," Vincent muttered, his jaw agape.

Resting on the side of the road was the broken, dented, flattened shell that had once been his car. Broken and shattered glass on the seats and floorboards. All tires slashed. Trash thrown inside the cab and empty trashcans dented against the metal. The car's lights were broken and shattered, the glass and plastic littering the concrete. His stuff was gone, the trunk popped open and re could recognize several of his personal items thrown around the street, soaking up in the aftermath of the rain.

Essentially, Vincent's car was totaled. It would cost him all the money in his savings and even more money from his parents to get the car fixed enough to drive it home. Not to mention the things he had in there, his stereo, the floor covers, everything. No doubt the locals had had a field day after basically destroying his car.

Anger started to boil within Vincent. He had been feeling on edge lately. There were the dreams of course, but they were minimal. Nearly killed by a freak lightning strike, seeing things fighting with Ripper for Danielle, and now his car was destroyed. He could feel the anger rise in his mind like a boiling pot ready to blow.

Instincts were gaining hold as he snarled under his breath. He wanted to lash out, strike something, blame someone for this. Fury was building in him, and Vincent wanted to unleash it, to fight back at something that was beyond his control.

"Vincent, darling," Danielle's voice grabbed his attention and he glared at her. She did not seem phased as the detective lost his professional resolve. "If you want," she took her arm in his and lead him away from the wreckage that was once his car. "I can give you a ride." She looked into his eyes and Vincent was unsure what was happening to him.

He had been in a near-blind rage one minute, and then he could feel the desire and lust for this woman tearing at his mind the next. Vincent tried to maintain his composure, to keep it in check. He was fighting it every second. Either he was angry at someone or something, or he wanted to get Danielle into bed. The experience was starting to tax him, and he was starting to slip.

With her arm through his, Danielle led Vincent away from the remains of his car and towards her own. The detective was surprised, where his car had been over ten years old, Danielle's looked like it was brand new. It was a dark red convertible resting on the side of the road, a block away. Smiling, she let go of his hand and walked to the driver's side of the car, wrapping her dress as she got in. She motioned for Vincent to get in as well.

After the detective closed his door and got in, Danielle's foot hit the gas and peeled out, leaving a few short streaks of burnt rubber on the concrete. Driving past Vincent's wrecked car and a collection of motorcycles parked along the sidewalk. Vincent felt the wind on his face and blow his hair around as Danielle drove through what he considered Denver's slum district.

Just like in the alley, there was the smell of garbage, oil, human refuge, stagnant air and human desperation. Vincent curled his nose at the scent. He wasn't sure if he would have noticed it earlier, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Not that it mattered now.

Danielle slowed to a stop in front of a large apartment building with two double doors. The building itself looked run down, windows broken or covered up with tape and trash bags. Under the streetlight, Vincent could see some of the foundations giving way. He pitied whoever lived here.

Exiting the car, he followed his escort up to the doors and inside the building. The inside looked no different than the outside, and no different from his hotel room at that. Pale wallpaper with various water stains along the walls and the side of the circular stair well.

Vincent followed Danielle farther into the building, up to a door with the number seven in tarnished silver. She opened the door and smiled at him.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," she said sweetly going inside.

Hands in his pockets, Vincent followed.

Danielle's apartment wasn't that large, but it was cluttered. Shelves lined the walls and books filled every ledge. Odd knickknacks rested between books, on top of shelves, and even on small tables. Rolls of blankets over what looked like boxes, and even more lines of books on top of those.

"I'll just be a moment," she cooed at him as she disappeared into another room.

Vincent stood there, taking in the details of the living room. The books seemed to run the gambit from old texts and tomes to writing in the last fifty years, just battered and worn. He walked up to one of the book cases and glanced at the names of the books. Some were in Latin, others looked like French or German. For the few in English, he had to figure out what they meant. Odd titles like _Stains of Blood_, and _Rites of the Dragon_. He didn't know what they mean, so Vincent pulled one off the shelves and flipped it open.

Much of the book was hand written, using ink from a quill pen. It had drawn diagrams of human bodies eviscerated with the organs clearly marked. What was offsetting, wasn't that it was an anatomy book, but that it was hand-drawn and looked fairly recent. Dark red blotches were on some of the pages, looking like dried blood.

"The hell...," he asked no one in particular. Confusion showed on his face as he continued to flip through the book. It was all hand written and it resembled a journal. Blood stained pages seemed to be on every other page.

"Ahem," he heard off to the side and he spun, book in hand.

There was Danielle, with her hands holding onto the door frame of the entry way to the room she had disappeared into. She wasn't wearing much, just a long, thin, white robe not leaving much to the imagination. Everything else was plain to see.

"Are you going to join me, or am I going to have to drag you in?" her voice was a soft purr, drawing him to her.

The detective stared. Closing the book, he tossed it onto the small couch in the center of the room. Instinct took over as he pulled back his coat, letting it fall to the floor and walked into the woman's arms.

Her body was cool to the touch as they both landed on the bed, Danielle on top. For Vincent he was lost in the heat of the moment, baser instincts and needs clouding what ever clear thinking he could muster. Physical sensations rocketed through his body that he hadn't experienced before, and took his mind further past any kind of clarity.

The woman's motions were soft and passionate, causing more need and desire to rise in him. He was almost thriving off the euphoric high being experienced, and nothing else mattered.

Danielle leaned on top of him, her kisses running down the left side of his neck. She unleashed a breathless moan, open mouthed away from his neck. Vincent wasn't paying attention to her mouth, and he didn't notice that her canines grew by another half inch, turning into fangs.

With a ravenous hunger, she bit into the detective. A new bright hot wave of euphoria washed over Vincent's mind, and then his mind was gone.

She pulled back from the unconscious human laying under her, smiling. Licking the blood from her lips she admired the two small holes in the side of Vincent's neck. Leaning down again, she licked the wound with her tongue. His skin seemed to heal and dissolve the puncture marks as if they were never there.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 3: Shifting Perception_

_  
_Slowly, Vincent felt himself wake up.

It wasn't a pleasant process. His eyes requiring an effort to open. The annoying sensation close to pain, but not quite as the muscles around his eyelids burned. His body was sore and he didn't want to move, but his mind was becoming active and wouldn't settle down.

Willing himself, he opened his eyes to a darkened room. Shapes and outlines met his eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. Although he could perceive the room, in his sleep he had to fight for the memories of the night before.

The dream. _Mystique_. Ripper. A fight. His car. Danielle. Danielle... Where was she?

Vincent pushed himself up and looked over to the side. The bed was large enough for two, but he was alone on the white sheets and soft mattress. Did she leave him, this late in the night? What time was it?

Leaning over, he felt the floor, searching for his pants. He heard the familiar clink of his belt and hauled his pants up, searching the pockets. Cell phone in one of the pockets, he flipped it open, squinting against the light now illuminating the room.

"Wha," he said staring at the time. "This can't be right." Vincent stared at the phone until the screen blacked out. "Ten-thirty in the morning?" He ran his hand through his hair. "That's not right," he told himself once more. Realizing that if he couldn't sleep, he might as well do something to wear himself out.

He put his pants on and felt around for a light switch. The light met his eyes and made him close them again. He kept his eyes shut, waiting for them to become accustomed to the light once more. Vincent braced himself against the wall. On top of being tired and blinded by the light, he was light headed to boot.

Letting out a throaty groan, Vincent went over everything that happened in his mind. The events of last night were becoming clearer the more he thought about them. He was confused at his own actions. Vincent had never been that tense, towards the edge, and ready to lash out at someone, anything, as he had been last night. Granted his friends back home had told him he was gaining a bit of a temper in the last month, but that was nothing compared to the rage he felt clawing at him. Snarling, growling under his breath, thinking of a complete stranger as his, and only his.

When he focused on Danielle, he stopped. There was something about her. Despite how much he needed her last night, there was no emotional attraction to her. He just used her like a tissue. Or did she use him? He wasn't sure. At the time he didn't care. Unsure what there was about Danielle that put him on edge now, he went over her actions again. Her movements, words, breathing, anything.

_Wait,_ As the realization washed over him. _I don't think she even breathed._ Vincent thought back to last night. His mind may have been distracted slightly by his lack of attention to anything else but Danielle, he still had a good memory of what he experienced. He didn't remember her breathing at all, and her body was cold to the touch. Almost like she had just gotten out of a shower, but wasn't wet.

He opened his eyes again. The front room hadn't changed at all since he had entered Danielle's apartment. His eyes scanned for a clock, and found a dust covered digital clock against the wall he was standing by. A glance told him something was defiantly wrong. The clock told him in red block digital lettering that it was just past nine-thirty.

Unease growing within him, Vincent opened the door leading out to the hallway. He looked outside, and could see sunlight behind the double doors to the outside, and could hear a busy Denver street. Vincent closed the door and started collecting his belongings and getting dressed. His mind snapped to consciousness, working on this problem.

An apartment with no light coming in from anywhere. Shelves of books lining the living room, from tomes to journals. Danielle nowhere in sight.

His flashlight clicked on as he stepped into the other room. There was the living room and then bedroom. This one was the kitchen. Black and white tiles on the floor had little wear and tear on them. The counters were bare, no dishes, microwave, or any kind of modern convenience. He checked the cabinets. No dishes, silverware or even food. Did she honestly live here, or just take what she could from her customers? Vincent pulled open the refrigerator.

Nothing. It wasn't even plugged in.

Scanning the kitchen, he noticed that there were no windows. None at all. In fact, most of the apartment seemed to have what windows there should be hidden, boarded, or covered. It had been so dark Vincent didn't know the sun was up.

And where was Danielle?

Vincent noticed a broom closet nestled in the corner, next to the doorway into the kitchen. Holding the flashlight ready he carefully made his way to the door.

His senses were on edge. He could feel his own heart beating in his ears. Silent footsteps upon the tiles as Vincent crept up to the door. His sense seemed stretched, he could smell a faint stagnant odor, hear the faint brush of air against him, taste the thickness of the room, feel his blood coursing through his veins.

Gripping the cold doorknob, he swallowed back the lump in his throat, turned the knob, and shined the light in.

Vincent Nelson stood in shock at what he saw.

In the broom closet, where there should have been nothing but brooms and cleaning supplies was Danielle, standing up, or rather leaning, against the back wall in the small enclosure. Her eyes were closed, and there was no evidence of her breathing. She had her arms crossed across her chest, the same thin, white, cloth she wore when she enticed him to bed.

"The hell," he muttered. Vincent's own obsession with the unknown forced him forward. He reached out to see if she had a pulse. Touching the left side of her neck, he felt cold clammy flesh, like he was feeling a cadaver. There was no pulse.

There was a twitch of motion, grabbing his attention to her face. Instead one of her hands latched onto his wrist, causing him to let out a small shout. Danielle's eyes opened next, looking at him with a cold, dead stare.

"My my," she said softly. The playful tone gone from her voice. It was low and sent a chill up Vincent's spine as she held his wrist hard. "Aren't we a curious little puppy." As she spoke, Vincent saw her teeth, enlarged canines in her mouth.

He tried pulling his arm out, managing to wrench it out of her grasp and stepping back into the kitchen. Danielle gracefully walked out of the broom closet, following him, that dead glare in her eyes.

Vincent's mind raced trying to comprehend what he was seeing. A dead woman, pale as a ghost, sleeping during the day, avoiding sunlight, fangs. "V-vampire." he muttered, half in shock at the realization. An honest to God vampire was staring at him, right in the face. And he was in her lair of all things! If Vincent wasn't scared for his life, he'd be muttering off questions and trying piece together fact from myth.

He was backing into the living room, with her slowly following him, expressionless. Vincent's mind was thinking of a way out, a way to get into a better position. The door was only ten feet behind him, he could probably make it in a straight run, but then he'd have Danielle at his neck, more than likely in her hands or mouth.

"My you are a clever detective aren't you, Vincent darling." She shifted her walk, circling Vincent and causing him to back up against the shelves and couch.

There went that escape plan.

Vincent backed up until he hit one of the shelves against the wall. Now he was stuck. Between a hard place and a set of blood sucking fangs. His mind raced for a possible chance. If he could get out in the sun she couldn't go after him. Bad for him he was inside and the windows were blocked and covered.

Not for long.

Side stepping, he braced his shoulder as he tipped one of the shelves, sending books and artifacts crashing over the couch and onto the floor. A yell of protest came from Danielle as Vincent tried looking for the window. Not behind Shelf Number One.

Danielle came running at him now, closing the distance in a few feet. He managed to duck the swing and get on the opposite side of another shelf, keeping it between him and her. Another brace, another shove and the second shelf came crashing to the floor. But there was no window there.

By now the vampire had caught onto his plan and stopped. She stood behind a toppled shelf. Her books and artifacts littered the floor. This human was trying to get some sunlight into the room, but didn't know where the window was. She was still between him and the door, and planned to keep it that way. For whatever reason, she wanted to keep him here. But he was getting closer to the window.

Vincent watched Danielle carefully. She was lacking many of the small cues that registered her as _human_, but there were other tells that could clue him into what was running through her head. She probably knew he was trying to get her into the light, and he was on unfamiliar grounds. She had stopped attacking, and that gave him the chance he needed. So he watched her, as still as he could be, adrenaline rushing through his system. More importantly, he watched her eyes. It was like watching an old computer-generated movie where the characters look human, but the audience knew they weren't. She didn't blink, she didn't twitch her eyes, she was beating him at a staring contest.

A quick glance to just behind him, and Vincent had his answer. He spun and grabbed the shelf, pulling it down with a third crash. Danielle's voice was a shriek of defiance as Vincent grabbed onto the heavy cloth covering the window, hidden behind the crashed shelf. The fabric was held with heavy staples, and Vincent didn't have the strength to pull it down.

Danielle rushed him, hands open and fangs showing, rage in her eyes. Vincent held onto the fabric and let gravity take control.

The next seconds were a blur of confusion as the fabric gave way under Vincent's weight, ripping one side free from the window frame and letting a beam of early morning sunlight reflect into the apartment. Danielle reeled back, almost sliding along the floor. Hissing and wide-eyed with unbridled fear, she disappeared back to the kitchen and the room where Vincent had found her.

Scarred, Vincent pushed himself up from the piles of books he had fallen on. His back hurt, but he got up from the pain. By the skin of his teeth Vincent had avoided becoming a vampire's mid-day snack, and he wasn't sticking around to be her breakfast.

High tailing it out of the apartment, he shut the door and made sure it was secure. He didn't want her following him after all. As he passed curious neighbors, he waved them off by saying that a some shelves had dropped and needed to be replaced. It wasn't a direct lie, but it wasn't the whole story either.

His mind racing with questions and information, Vincent ran into the morning light.

* * *

In the late morning, the Pearl Street Mall had people walking between shops. The four-block shopping center had less customers since the University was on summer break, however the tourists and local residents made up the difference. Comprised of local-shop owners, Pearl Street offered a select group of shops and services to downtown Boulder.

One of these shops, was a nationally recognized mystery book store called Nevermore. Snugly nestled between a gun shop and knick-knack store, the Nevermore created its own popularity with the degree of mystery books lining its shelves. There were several customers in this early in the day, scrounging for the latest books, or old ones they had read as a child.

A Hispanic woman was manning the storefront. There was an exceptional beauty about her, and in response she gained a few glances and stares from the few customers in the shop. Her voice had a hint of a Spanish accent, but it only added to her exotic attractiveness.

A teenage woman was also in the shop. She was sorting new books on the shelves and checking stock while her co-worker watched the register. Her hair was red and cut shoulder length, tied back with a small tie as she worked.

The door to Nevermore opened and Doomwise stepped inside. Looking at the new arrival, the Hispanic's soft eyes hardened as she recognized the new comer. Doomwise walked up to the counter, ignoring the man standing there who had been trying to make a pass at the Hispanic.

"Hello Amanda," she said.

"I'll be with you in a second," before she turned to finish helping the customer. She was giving off an air of 'don't try anything, not a good time.' Receiving his books, the man scurried out of the store.

Amanda, the Hispanic, glared at Doomwise. "Doomwise," her voice was low. "What are you doing back in Denver?

"I need to discuss something of importance with Park Sun Ae. Perhaps you should hear it as well."

"Where is your pack?"

"Outside the edge of the mall, where I asked them to wait."

There was silence. "It's not good is it?"

"No."

It was a tense moment before Amanda uttered something in Spanish under her breath, before yelling across the store. "Kim! Get Ae." The teenager spun around at the shouting, saw the look in her packmate's eyes and headed for the stairs. Amanda looked back at Doomwise. "It might take a bit, she's been busy lately."

"That's fine, I will wait." Doomwise took her leave from the counter, running her finger along a shelf of books, feigning interest in the titles and subjects.

Dealing with members of the same Tribe was difficult. For even though Doomwise and Amanda shared a similar ban and oath, they went about it in completely different ways. They were both Bone Shadows, mystics among mystics in _Uratha_ society, following _Repay each spirit in kind_ as part of their lives. The difference, besides their moon phase, was that Amanda, and Park Sun Ae, were part of a select group of Bone Shadows that focused primarily on prophecy and visions, and thus why Doomwise was here.

She needed advice.

Dreams came naturally for the werewolf, she had changed while the moon was gibbous, three-fourths full. As a _Cahalith_ she embodied Luna the dreamer, pregnant with ideas and bursting with lore. While the _Rahu_ could size up an enemy by looking into their eyes, an _Edoloth_ could negotiate with spirits for balance, and an _Irraka_ could sense the subtle spiritual disturbances and act as a pathfinder, the Gibbous Moon gift was viewed as more potent. And it was this gift that had brought Doomwise back to Denver.

The _Cahalith_ received visions given to them, often thought from Luna herself. The dreams were always masked in symbolism and confusion. And for Doomwise, they were always bad.

"Doomwise," came the sound of an older voice, laced with hints of an Asian dialect. She turned to see a middle-aged Korean woman walking towards her, with Amanda right behind. "By what do I owe this pleasure?"

The two embraced each other. "_I wish it were under better circumstances,_" Doomwise whispered to the elder. "_Time is short and I need advice._"

"Very well," Park Sun Ae pulled back from the tall albino and looked towards Kim. "Kim, get one of the new ones to watch the front. _This way_," she turned to Doomwise and lead the three upstairs.

The upstairs apartment was small, and homey. Relics and dressings reminiscent of a Korean home mixed with bones and drawings of the werewolf life. Shelves along the walls had books set in their cases, many were old and starting to fall apart. Park Sun Ae took a set around a small table, Doomwise sat opposite of her while Amanda and Kim both took seats on the sides.

"Doomwise," the Korean spoke. "What do you seek?"

The _Cahalith_ had to be careful in her wording. Park Sun Ae and her pack, the Three Sisters, were known for their prophecies among the local werewolves, and do not take kindly to whelps asking for their fortunes.

"I come for advice, from one more versed in the prophet's eye," she replied respectfully. "I have had a vision of late that has brought my pack to Denver. Unlike others, this dream is cryptic, much symbolism I do not understand hides a greater truth. A truth that I believe will affect all _Uratha_."

Sun Ae was quiet as she listened to the younger werewolf. She had heard of Doomwise's prophecies, and how important many of them had been in the past. If the prized _Cahalith_ of the _Uratha_ was concerned, it was best to listen.

"Describe this dream. Every detail."

Doomwise did, with every vivid detail she could remember.

"What have you concluded?" Amanda asked this time.

"The most important, is the howl heard in the beginning, is _Urfarah_ as he was struck down by our ancestors. This howl is present in the werewolf on top of the bones and bodies of the fallen. The howls are not the same, but they carry the same presence. The same _being_ made those howls. I believe that Father Wolf will return, in the body of a werewolf."

"And you believe that he, or she, will be here?"

"I am not sure," Doomwise admitted. Much of this was her own speculation with what the dream had showed her. "However, the skyline of Denver was distinct. Even if the larger buildings were skeletons of their former selves, I could never forget the mountains to the west and the buildings." She thought on it for a bit more. While she was used to interpreting her own dreams, she needed guidance now. "It could mean that whoever Father Wolf will return as, will be someone in Denver. Or, what will happen to break the world will happen in Denver. But what of the figures? I'm sure they are the source of it, but unsure as to what they are."

"Nine figures, amidst the carnage," Park Sun Ae spoke softly. "Could mean one thing." Her voice turned cold as ice. "Maeljin"

The world sent a shiver down everyone's spine and a disgusting taste in their mouths.

"Could the Maeljin do such a thing?" Kim asked, shaken at the idea.

"They corrupt everything they touch, tormenting the world onto its own destruction. Your dream brings dire news indeed, Doomwise." Park Sun Ae lifted her head up, looking at the ceiling. "_Urfarah_'s return and the rise of the Maeljin. Hope and despair intertwined as one."

"We must find Father Wolf soon then," Doomwise looked at the Three Sisters. "Has there been news of new werewolves in the area?"

"Nothing but bickering children," the elder responded. "So short sighted that they fancy themselves leaders among the blind, when they are blind themselves."

"However," Amanda cut into the conversation. "I have heard that New Hope had to deal with a few destructive spirits. From what they could tell a lightning spirit attacked someone close to the Change, and left much of a hotel destroyed for its efforts."

"A spirit openly attacking a pre-Change werewolf?" Such things were not unheard of, but it was rare, and enough to take notice. "Did the spirits say why?"

"When pressured they shut up tight. Whatever sparked the attack, they're keeping very quiet about it. As I've said, New Hope has had some problems, but information isn't that hard to get."

Doomwise pondered on the reasons. "Could it be that _Urfarah_ is here, in Denver, right now? That spirits can recognize the strength of Father Wolf in a pre-Changed werewolf and are trying to stop it? Did this New Hope find them?"

"No," Amanda shook her head. "The _nuzusul_ left the area in a hurry. Immediately after the attack."

_A wise move_ Doomwise thought. _Keep moving and the spirits won't find you as easy. But neither will we._ "Park Sun Ae," Doomwise asked. "Could you find where this person will be today?"

The elder looked at her. "Do you believe this to be Father Wolf?"

"With no other mention of new werewolves and spirits acting so violently towards one before their Change, it is a coincidence I cannot ignore."

The Three Sisters looked at their alpha, as the Korean woman stared into Doomwise's eyes. The air was tense before she replied. "No." Doomwise felt her heart sink and her Rage boil under her skin. "I will not seek him. You will. Kim, retrieve my bowl."

The teenager stood up and quickly walked to the shelf. She returned, holding onto a large wooden bowl. Carved into the interior and exterior of the bowl were intricate glyphs resembling the moon and spirits. Symbols of time and history, meant to channel an image of things yet to come. Carefully the elder poured water from a ceramic holder. Taking leaves from a plant growing behind her, Park Sun Ae ground them in her fingers. The leaves broke and shattered as they fell from her hands, landing as flakes upon the water.

Park Sun Ae placed the bowl down on the table in front of Doomwise and waited. Carefully, Doomwise took the bowl. She felt a presence pulse within it, and she knew it was a fetish.

A fetish to a werewolf was not the normal taboo or perversion that it meant for humans. Fetishes were items imbued with spiritual power, binding spirits to objects and giving them a magical quality. They were highly coveted and various shaman or ritual masters were asked to help create them for a pack. The _Cahalith_ knew what an honor it was to use a fetish from Park Sun Ae, and she prepared herself.

"Commune with the spirit, and then drink the water."

Doomwise sat for a moment, focusing on the balance between her spirit and flesh. It was a difficult sensation, striving to embrace the spirit side when you were bound by flesh. She had practice though, and she felt the spirit in the fetish stir to life. The carvings along the bowl started to glow in a silver light and the werewolf knew she had appeased the spirit with her own balance. Taking the bowl in both hands, she lifted it up and drank the water.

There was no taste, despite what Park Sun Ae had placed into the liquid. But the sensation wasn't of taste, it was sight.

To the Three Sisters as they looked on, Doomwise was staring up at nothing, her eyes cloudy and unfocused. To Doomwise, she was receiving a vision.

The vision was unlike the dreams that Luna sent. This was imagery, pure and simple. Doomwise looked on as she glanced up the edge of a building, nearly five stories in height. It was night, and someone was scuffling around the edge of the building. They wore a trench coat, with a staff of some sort in hand. They looked around nervously before disappearing, and then reappearing, jumping from the building itself.

Doomwise's vision faded away to the ceiling above her. She looked back at the Three Sisters.

"Did you see what you were looking for?" Park Sun Ae took the bowl away from Doomwise.

"Yes...I did. I saw the man throw himself from the top of a building," it wasn't what she had hoped.

"The visions are not always pleasant. You have your answer, you may leave."

The _Cahalith_ sighed. It wasn't much, but it was something she could take back to her pack. "Thank you Park Sun Ae, I shall repay you for your help before we leave Denver."

"I know you will," the Korean replied as they all rose. "You have always kept your word to those who aid you Doomwise."

Doomwise gave the elder a bow of her head for her help and left Nevermore.

She walked along the small shopping center until she reached the van that her packmates were waiting in. The memory of the vision running through her mind. He was going to throw himself, form where? There were dozens, maybe close to a hundred five story buildings in Denver and there was no way to search them all for him. She thought back, thinking about what she saw. It was night, top of a building, the skyline. Kalila was sitting in the driver's seat when she noticed Doomwise come back.

"How'd it go with the Sisters," she asked.

"Our problems have gone from bad to worse," Doomwise replied before getting into the passenger seat.

"What do you mean?" She heard Elias ask from the back.

"I may have found out who we're supposed to find. But he might kill himself in the next few nights." She thought for a second. "The _nuzusul_ you saw last night was wearing a long tan coat?"

"Yes," Elias replied. "You think he's the one?"

"Maybe, but we won't know for sure until we find him."

"His car was gone before us, but he still had his personal items in the room," Heartsblood mentioned.

"So he'll come back for them at some point," Dana added tapping her fingers on the side of the van.

"True, but we can't sit at the hotel waiting for him to show up." A plan of action was needed, and that's what Elias was doing. "We'll drive back by the hotel, and see if his car is there. If not we'll have to track him the old fashioned way."

"We should start in downtown," Doomwise added. "The vision showed me some of the Denver skyline, I think he'll be there."

"Any idea on which building?"

"No."

"Just great," Dana muttered. "Well, shall we get started o' leader?"

"Drive Kalila," Elias said as the van rumbled to life.

* * *

Vincent stumbled a bit as his foot was too low, hitting the edge of the curb as he crossed the street. Catching himself, he continued walking along the sidewalk amongst the other people going along their day. He was distant, his mind distracted as his paced seemed to waver.

His mind raced with thoughts and images of what had happened that morning. Trying to comprehend everything without losing his mind. How long Vincent had ran from Danielle, he didn't know, but it was enough to slow him to a walk. First things first, he had to find out where he was.

He glanced around. The sky scrapers were closer, but not bearing over him. Larger buildings were on the street he was on, but they were between four to eight stories he guessed. What took him by surprise, was that the people walking the sidewalks and the cars on the street didn't look like they came from the same neighborhood Danielle resided in.

How long had he been walking?

Digging his cellphone out he flipped it open. The time read eleven o five AM.

The look of confusion on his face was visible to everyone who saw him. It was just eleven in the morning, and he was in a completely new area of Denver from what he could tell. Curious he got the attention of a passer buy and asked how far it was from where he was now to _Mystique_. The answer surprised him.

"It's about 4 or 5 miles from here in the south end of town." Their reply was brief before they left the startled detective on the street.

Again, confusion washed over Vincent. Five miles? There was no way he could have walked five miles in less than twenty minutes. He didn't even remember any of it. Somewhere along the way he had lost time, or gained it. He wasn't sure.

It was starting to become to much for Vincent, and he desperately needed a smoke. Finding a bench he dropped down and dug a cigarette out from his pocket. Fiddling with his lighter the flame lit the end and he inhaled smoke.

He needed to think, to try and figure out what was going on. Not only with the case, but also with what was happening with him.

A vampire. A real live vampire. Vincent couldn't believe it. He had seen some weird things in his life, sure, but a real undead was something he never got to see back home. What did he know about vampires though? The suck the blood of the living. Some aversion to garlic and holy symbols, but that seemed to vary from story to story. Their bite could turn a human into one of them. Bite.

Vincent felt his neck. He didn't have any puncture wounds or such, but he had felt light-headed in the morning. There was a memory of Danielle biting his neck, but after that he seemed to lose consciousness. Light headed after being bitten? Yeah. She ate him.

Vincent looked up and shielded his eyes from the sun. He didn't feel like he was going to burst into flames any minute. So maybe there was more than a bite to turn him into one of the undead. That could explain it.

Okay so there was a vampire in Denver, and she frequented _Mystique_ as a loyal customer. Did that mean she had any connection with the missing people? It was possible. One of the disappearances had been a prostitute. However, Danielle was a 'lady of the night' as well, in more ways than one. If she wanted to hustle in on someone else's turf, there could be better ways than death. Although death did simplify things.

But then where to hide the bodies? Danielle's apartment didn't have any corpses lying around. Except for the one that laid him. Where could they be hidden without being found for so long? Surely someone would have found one of her victims, if she was the killer.

Vincent doubted it though.

Amanda said that Alice had gone with a large man with ferocious eyes. Last he checked, Danielle wasn't that large, or a man for that matter. He was confident that man was the abductor, and Vincent had happened onto Danielle by accident. Now he had another reason to watch his back at night, unless he wanted a vampire to suck him dry.

Vincent had his own problems to deal with, and he wasn't sure they were stress related. The dreams, his temper, jumping halfway across town in twenty minutes, the visions of alien beings muttering an a tongue he didn't understand but knew what it meant. Something was happening, he just didn't know what. Odds are he'd be diagnosed with some kind of psychosis and given enough pills to leave him a vegetable for half of his life. He wasn't sure what his experiences were, but his world was changing rapidly, and Vincent fought back the urge to lash out against it.

He needed to figure out both problems, and a safe place to do it in. His cigarette was almost gone and he looked up and down the street. A set of banners hung from the building a street over. In the center of the banners looked like four bookmarks making a short cross. Letters scrolling down the side read Denver Public Library.

A smile crossed the detective's face as he read those words.

His cigarette dropped to the ground before his foot extinguished the embers.

"Bingo."

* * *

"Remind me again why we're looking for a needle in a haystack," Dana asked as she glanced around a corner. Her senses stretched to try and find any spiritual fluctuations being given off by their prey, but the surrounding activity was making it difficult.

Heartsblood didn't answer his pack mate. He understood the frustration she felt, but knew the restraint to bridle it until necessary. Dana was an _Irraka_ of action, and her Tribe echoed as much in her actions. The Blood Talons were a tribe of warriors above the norm. They lashed out with frightening ferocity and effectiveness that lead to their name and reputation. It especially reflected in their own ban: _Offer no surrender you would not accept._

The pack had split up to try and cover more ground. With Dana's tracking skills, she and Heartsblood could hopefully find the soon-to-be werewolf before something else did. Elias, Kalila, and Doomwise had formed the other group, to try and locate any spirits that would be particularly aggressive or have a better idea to the presence of the pack's prey. They had spent most of the day hunting through downtown Denver, and the sun was setting behind the mountains.

Dana stretched her senses as best she could. While Kalila had a Gift to look into the Shadow through the Gauntlet, Dana had to use her raw skills. Her eyes seemed to un-focus, and then readjust, as if staring at an autostereogram. Her vision was replaced with a frosted glass covering, showing the busy sidewalk instead as an empty street corner. She saw some things move around, but in the moonless night sky, they were being stealthy. Quickly she scanned the street.

"Why hello there," she said playfully as her sight faded from the spiritual world back to the physical.

"What is it?"

"A lot of spirits are gathering at the building down the street."

"Could you tell what kind?"

"Who do I look like? Kalila?" she replied, frustrated as she started to walk in that direction, starting to meld in with the crowd itself.

Heartsblood followed silently. Contemplating now to keep Dana from losing herself in the hunt.

He feared it was already too late.

* * *

Time passed by without Vincent even knowing it. Currently sitting on the sixth floor of the Denver Public Library, newspapers, books, and the Book sitting on a large table while he had feverishly tried to find answers to questions he wasn't sure he knew. He was too focused on looking into the strange set of events that had brought him here, while simultaneously looking into his own issues. There were several things to consider, so Vincent focused on the case first.

Much of what he had already known was public knowledge, although todays headlines mentioned Amanda finally coming clean about what happened the night with Alice. He had scoured the newspapers looking for anything important. But he wasn't looking for the obvious crimes, and he wasn't looking just at Denver.

What many people didn't know about being a detective, was that it wasn't always street work and picking up a random clue here and there. It also wasn't a kick-down-the-door policy romanticized by the Dick Tracy comics earlier last century. Vincent was smart, and he was used to long hours of research, looking for the one string that could unravel the entire case. To do so, he had to go back farther and look at a wider area than just the city of Denver.

Vincent tried to think like the perpetrator. There was the option that it could all be just random acts of violence, but something wasn't right about that. Why, after a month of disappearances, had no bodies shown up? This wasn't like the Zodiac or Jack the Ripper, for who the act of killing and the press would have both given a kind of satisfaction. So far the press on the issue had been negligible at best. Some seemed to get a front page notice, while others were reduced to follow-ups and journalist speculation.

He used the Book to keep a record and time-line of everything that had happened. Day, time, occupation, where last seen, any family problems. He even managed to get a map of Denver itself, struggling to find the spots these people were last noticed. Some of them had disappeared when en route to another destination, their vehicles found at the likely point of abduction.

The disappearances did seem to be primarily around the area of Denver he had been at the night before. So far that was the only connection. Something nagged at the back of his mind. The reason behind any kind of kidnapping activity was missing to him: Why? Why were these people taken? What kind of urges would leave a person to abduct people and do who knew what to them? Best case scenario, they were all simply being chained and slowly conditioned into being slaves for someone. Worst case scenario, they were all dead as part of some kind of death cult ritual. Neither were preferable, but they were along the lines of someone with a twisted desire they had to enact.

There was something more here, and Vincent didn't have much time to find out what.

He cut through all of the fluff and drama of the newspaper clippings, trying to get as much raw data as he could on the people involved. Marrie B. Barrows was a prostitute who had been kicked out by her parents after refusing to clean up her act. She had been partying and staying out to all hours with who knows how many boys. In order to survive she was reduced to selling her body for money. Whatever one had to do to survive.

The second victim, an older man by the name of James Johnson, had a family of four in a nice Aurora neighborhood. Nice family, no marital problems that hadn't been resolved years before with counseling. Kids were almost in college, two beautiful young women.

Next on the list was also an older man, though without so much the sparkling reputation. Harrison Miller had lived in a run down apartment complex, a building that was so close to being condemned it wasn't even funny. No wife or children, family history had cases of drug and parental abuse. He owned and ran a pornography store close to downtown known as French Tickler. Not the most imaginative name, but it got the point across Vincent supposed.

Martha Wittmire, a teacher at one of the middle schools, had gone missing as well. She was pretty, and had the respect and admiration of the faculty and student body. She had moved to Denver from Florida about five years ago due to some legal troubles with the school. However she managed to make an impression on this school board, had worked and she got a job teaching again.

Doctor William Grass was a professor at one of the colleges. He was older, and had tenure with University of Colorado Denver. The areas he taught were history and philosophy, and had the attention of his students. He did happen to have a rumor among the students, dating the female students in return for a better grade.

Then Alice Fischer was the latest.

In Denver at least.

Vincent had expanded his search to beyond Denver and some of the other cities. The disappearances in Denver had only been happening for the last month, so there had to be similar cases. It was hard to sift through lists upon lists of missing persons the farther he expanded his search, but he was looking for a specific time frame, last month particularly.

He disregarded the missing children reports, he noticed that his current list of missing persons were 17 to 56. There were a few he wrote down, just to keep track of that didn't fit the norm of what he was looking for. Finding some similar cases happening up in Cheyenne about a month ago, Vincent continued to widen his search area. It was getting more difficult every time he thought he found something of notice and looked for more. The list of missing persons wasn't able to fit on a single page any more, rising to the double digits.

But what was the connection? All of the persons he found seemed to be as opposite as you could get. Rich, poor, college, grandfather, teacher, student, owner, driver. Something wasn't adding up.

He kept looking, hoping against himself that he was on the right track and hadn't over looked anything.

The trail of cases lead him from Cheyenne, to Salt Lake City. Vincent glanced over the older newspaper reports on the people that disappeared when something clicked. He was looking at the disappearance of Leroy Armstrong from Salt Lake and came across his name in an earlier court preceding. Leroy and his wife had been divorced two years prior to his disappearance due primarily to him sleeping with their sixteen year old daughter at the time. The wife had picked up and left, leaving the two together wanting nothing to do with either.

Something clicked in Vincent's mind.

"A prostitute, porn shop owner, young girls, incest..." He thought out loud before diving back in. Vincent checked on the history of the Denver disappearances first. Marrie and Harrison were his clues, so he looked at the history of the other three. She looked into Martha's past legal trouble back in Florida and found the court records. From the looks of it, rumors had spread that she was sleeping with not one, but several of her male students and the school had decided to fire her. She fought back, however the courts ruled in the school boards favor. At which point she came to Denver.

Will Grass had the reputation and the rumors going around about him, so that could have some basis in fact. Vincent would have to track down one of his previous 'students' and get some information out of her. From the looks of things he wouldn't need to, except to check his hunch. Vincent thought about James, and his two daughters. It wouldn't be too much of a leap to say that he had probably slept with one, if not both of them. He tried finding some medical or psychological records, but nothing was available. What goes on behind closed doors usually stays there.

That was the connection.

Every missing person had a history of some drive of lust. Be it incest, pornography, or just physical euphoria.

But what about Alice? She was the odd-man-out. Her history didn't seem to drive at some sort of innate sexual drive, or other lustful concerns. From what he had gathered, Alice seemed to just be a normal teenager. A teenager with a wild streak. Maybe she was picked for some reason, whatever it be. Vincent was sure he had a better idea where to start looking, and what characteristics he'd be looking for.

His stomach growled and he reached for the last cheeseburger that he had bribed someone to sneak inside for him. Since he was mostly secluded upstairs, he had the floor to himself to walk through and collect his information. He also didn't have to worry about anyone asking questions. A bite through the burger and he looked at it, wondering if there was any way he could have had it a bit more raw. Finishing the burger, he tossed the wrapping into one of the three bags sitting on the floor beside him.

Vincent didn't know why he was so hungry, he just knew he needed food, something with a lot of meat. Probably just his body telling him he needed more iron or something.

A sound reached his ears and he froze, listening for the sound. It was soft, and low, and too quiet for Vincent to make out. He listened carefully, goosebumps rising up along his neck, the sounds turning into voices. The voices were odd, distinct, but alien. Vincent's mind flashed back to the destruction of the hotel, and fear gripped his heart.

The voices got a little louder, but they were still barely more than a whisper. Vincent was fighting back instinct. He wanted to run, to hide, to do something. Behind him a bookshelf began to rumble, the books vibrating and sliding off some of the shelves. Slowly he turned and saw the books moving as if an earthquake was hitting the building, but only the shelf itself was moving with it.

Fear ran high through Vincent's mind. He didn't know what to do. As he stared, trying to comprehend what he was seeing, he thought he saw beings, or something, shaking the bookcase. His eyes seemed to glass over as his vision fogged like before, and he saw the creatures again.

Only this time it wasn't like before. They weren't hunks of metal, flame, or lightning, they were paper given a floating shape, books being held by wraiths and drug by chains. So different from anything Vincent knew, but familiar in a way.

Movement out of the corner of his eye made him flinch. The sound of a book hitting the opposite shelf and dropping to the floor met his ears. He turned away from the vibrating book cases, to check. It was a book. Another one flew past his head and he dove out of his chair as more books were flung from one shelf into another before landing on the floor.

The barrage of books stopped, and a silence fell upon the library again. Vincent opened his eyes and saw that one case was empty, all of its books on the floor against the opposite one. With him in between. Pushing himself up, Vincent made sure he was ready to drop down again if books went flying again. He had no idea what just happened, and no idea what to tell the librarians if they came up to see this mess.

Something on the wind caught his attention. He could smell someone coming, but he didn't know where they were. Fear started to take hold once more. Vincent felt the desire to run and hide again, but there was another urge. Not only to run and hide, but to fight back. He didn't know what to do with that feeling, so he pushed it to the side in his mind. What he did want to do, was to find out who was after him.

Silently, he closed the book and backed away from the table, before sprinting towards the edge of one of the book cases, hiding behind the divider. He waited, and watched.

* * *

Dana had been hunting the library for roughly twenty minutes, looking for the soon-to-be werewolf. The visitors didn't seem to notice her, or if they did were tight-lipped about it. She was a true wolf in sheep's clothing, moving among the herd in pursuit of her prey. More than anything Dana was trying to zero in on her target. The spiritual shock waves through the Shadow should be noticeable and easy to spot. Hell, she had sensed them last night from this same prey. If Doomwise was right that is.

She snorted before she sniffed a few times. Whatever scents she picked up were minimal at best, nothing to suggest her prey was here. Dana continued, slinking between book shelves, looking at people for certain features that the pack had told her about, stalking some that may have been who they were looking for. It was a building wide game of hide and seek.

And Dana was it.

Heartsblood was in the building as well, following behind Dana but disappearing once she did. They were both good at stealth and blending in. For all she knew, Heartsblood was simply her shadow, or maybe he was scouting another section of the library. Either way she didn't care. This was _her_ game.

Dana had made her way up the building, checking every floor as silently as a shadow. Each time her senses stressed to their strongest, searching for that spiritual disruption. She was getting closer with each floor, always the sensation was above her. Going up to the last floor that was publicly accessed, the sixth floor of the Denver Public Library.

She opened the doors, looking around. Lights were on, but no one seemed to be home. She sniffed the air again, catching the scent of fast food and cigarette smoke. Walking along the shelves she found a table covered with books and cut newspapers littering the table. A bag of trash was laying on the floor, fast food from a local store. Books littered the ground between the shelves, while one was completely empty.

A snarl escaped her throat as she glared at the empty shelf. Spirits were a pain most of the time. Dana got close to the table and sniffed around. She caught it. A scent laden with fear, worry, and pain. A smile split her face as she whispered with a growl.

"He's here. And he's afraid."

* * *

Vincent was afraid the sound of his heartbeat would attract whoever had spoke. The tone in her voice, the low growl behind it was sending fear racing up his spine like lightning. His curiosity told him to look, see who it was, his instincts told him to run, and his soul told him to fight. The detective was fighting three different urges at once, conflicting within his psyche.

Curiosity ran out first, so he turned the corner slightly to see who had spoken. There was a woman standing there, Native American in ethnicity, wearing a red bandanna, topaz earrings, a necklace and a dagger on her hip. How the hell did she get in the building without anyone noticing? The woman started to turn back towards Vincent and he hid behind the divider again.

He had to get away. Now.

Slowly he started walking away, but he needed a distraction first. Being careful, he took a book off the shelf and threw it down the opposite side of the shelf. He heard it bang and rattle, then he moved. Walking three shelves down he turned into the aisle and waited. Vincent peered through the books to see if the woman was going for it. He couldn't tell.

Not wanting to stay there, he decided to keep moving. Ducking and weaving between shelves and aisles, Vincent was trying to snake his way to the door. He glanced around a corner and saw someone else looking down the aisles. He ducked back behind the shelf, his mind racing.

Someone was after him, and he was running out of room to escape. They were checking every aisle, looking for him. He needed a plan, and he had to think of it fast.

* * *

Dana's face scowled as she looked at the book laying on the floor between the shelves. She was used to her prey panicking and making mistakes, she was also used to her prey being smart enough to distract her. The latter was just annoying.

She was back on the hunt, eying through shelves and dividers, searching for her prey, trying to catch it on the wind. The scent told her that he had moved on ward through the library, weaving between the shelves. She was also getting closer. Each step one towards her prey. She moved silently along a shelf, hearing someone move along the other side. Dana smiled. She thrilled in this part of the hunt. The seconds before pouncing on her victim.

The _Irraka_ spun around the corner of the shelf ready to pin her prey. She stopped in her tracks when she realized that it was Heartsblood ready to get her.

"Heartsblood," she muttered. "What the hell?" Rage burned at her mind.

"He eluded us both?"

Dana's response was cut off by the sound of an opening window.

"Fuck!"

* * *

Vincent Nelson dropped hard. The fall had only been about ten to fifteen feet, but that didn't soften the hard truth that landing was going to hurt. Gravel had slipped away from under him as he hit the roof of the fourth floor. He let out a moan of pain as he struggled to pick himself up.

The window had let out a loud creak when he opened it, so now he was sure the two after him had noticed it. His feet fought for traction as he started running against the pain in his legs. A quick glance back and he saw the two climbing down from the window. It wasn't much, but at least he had a head start.

He was sprinting, running as fast as he could. Vincent hoped he might be able to roof hop down to the street, but he wasn't sure if he could really. Too many more bad falls and he would be done for. Ending up in the hospital wasn't good for his clients. Or him.

His lungs burning, he kept pushing himself as he heard the sounds of the people after him. He noted their pace was still behind him back at where he had dropped, but he noticed that the pace seemed to change. He had heard two sets of feet on the top of the roof, now he heard three?

"Dana!" he heard the man shout behind him. Vincent glanced back and expected to see the woman and the man with a third person. But that wasn't the case. The man was back there, the look in his appearance more feral and savage, and the woman was gone.

Instead a light tan wolf was barreling down on him, fangs bared, and catching up fast.

He had a wolf chasing him now. Just, where the hell did it come from?

Vincent could hear it getting closer and closer with every step. He couldn't outrun it forever. His feet skidded to a stop as he reached inside his coat. The wolf jumped at him, mouth open and fangs glistening from the street lights.

A one foot cylinder turned into a six foot staff with a twist and a spring loaded 'twang.' Vincent spun like a baseball batter, fear and determination in his eyes. His staff connected with the wolf, just behind the head and shoulders, right at the base of the neck. The force of the impact nearly took Vincent off balance as the wolf went flying to the side.

At first the wolf didn't move after it hit the ground, but then it picked itself up, glaring at Vincent. It snarled as it started to circle him. The detective tried to keep his staff between him and the wolf. He also tried to keep his mind on the man from earlier, and the disappearing woman.

Glinting back in the moonlight was a set of jewelry hanging around the wolf's neck and through its ears. A red bandanna rested under the necklace around its neck, and there was also a braid tied off from the back of the wolf's head. It had the same things he saw the woman wearing.

Taking a step back from shock Vincent's mind tried to think about what he was seeing. _Werewolf,_ was the only thing that ran through his mind, as crazy as it sounded it was the only thing that made sense. He heard a snarl behind him. Spinning, there was another large wolf behind him there too, this one with a fur of rusty red. Great, now he was surrounded, circled like a late night snack.

The tan wolf rushed in, snapping its jaws at him. Vincent managed to side step, but then had the other wolf at his back, snarling at him. He was stuck between two sets of fur and gnashing teeth. Again the tan wolf lunged for him and he attacked back, hitting it on the side of the head. He know he connected, but it just shrugged off the hit like it was nothing.

Vincent was being circled by the wolves, trying to watch both at one time, using his staff to give himself some distance. It wasn't easy, try to get one, and the other would attack. But staying there and just waiting to get killed wasn't an option either.

The red one snapped at his heels, forcing Vincent to jump forward. The next thing he knew was the pain and weight on his left shoulder from an 80 pound werewolf biting into him. He fell back from the attack as the wolf let go of his shoulder, bleeding through his coat.

His free arm swing at the wolf, hitting it in the head and knocking it off of him. Fear raced through his mind. He was going to die. Torn apart and eaten. Wincing through the pain in his shoulder he pushed himself up, swinging his staff to keep them back. The tan one had his blood dripping from its jaws as it growled at him.

He wasn't ready to die. Not like this. But he couldn't fight off two at the same time. Vincent held his left shoulder as he slowly backed away from the wolves, keeping an eye on them both. They weren't circling him right now, but they were keeping him from running towards a window or door.

Vincent was fighting himself to break down and run for his life. There was no real place to run, though. Either run through two sets of snarling teeth, or jump to his death. Neither was a good option. He glanced to the side, and saw that he was close to the edge of the roof. About five feet behind him. Vincent didn't have anywhere else to run did he.

He heard the sound of compression air-brakes and glanced at the street. A semi-truck was coming down the street, right next to the library. An idea went through his mind. It was crazy, and might kill him anyway.

Vincent charged at the werewolves, swinging his staff at them. The darted off, their own flexibility gaining them an advantage. The tan one landed and snarled, ready to strike, but he turned around and ran for the edge of the building.

Flying is a strange feeling. The only sensation is the rushing of the wind and any indication of 'up' happens to be the opposite direction of where one happens to be falling. If it were under different circumstances, Vincent may have liked to free fall, perhaps with a bungee around his waist. However he was fearing for his life and was hoping the driver of the semi wasn't going to suddenly slow down.

_* * *_

Elias, Doomwise, and Kalila were making their way down a sidewalk to try and get together with Dana and Heartsblood. It was difficult to find the two, their affinity for shadows and hiding meant that they didn't want to be seen unless they wanted to.

Doomwise looked up at the buildings they were walking towards. Her memory clicked as she recognized the building as the one from the vision. "This way," she said before running off towards it. Crossing the street she glanced up at the side of the roof, and recognized the person looking over the edge. It was him. The person so close to their First Change, the one holding _Urfarah_'s soul was standing up there.

She saw him look around before he disappeared past the roof again. Her heart sank as she remembered the rest of the vision. He was going to jump.

A semi truck drove by her and the rest of the pack just as she saw him jump from the roof of the building. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Doomwise wanted to howl. In anger, rage, sorrow, and to try and reach this _nuzusul_ before he ended his life, and the hopes of all _Uratha_ whether he knew it or not. She tried to reach out for him as he fell down from the roof right towards the semi driving past.

With a thud, the man hit the semi and it roared down the street, its course unchanged.

Rage roared in her, so much that she had shifted to _Dalu_, in order to howl out her sorrow and anger at the world. Doomwise looked up at the building and saw two familiar looking wolves looking after the semi.

* * *

Heartsblood and Dana stood there, glancing over. Neither of them could believe he would have jumped like that after he had charged at him. They hand ran after the man after he jumped, wanting to stop him but unable to. They heard the thud of his body as it hit the top of the semi-trailer. The entire move was risky, and he could have just as easily hit the pavement as the truck.

The sound of him hitting the trailer had sent chills through the werewolves' bones. They had seen him move after hitting the truck, so they were sure he wasn't dead. Yet.

The Hunter In Darkness changed back to _Hishu_, his human form, as he looked after the truck driving farther and farther away.

"You have his scent," he asked Dana.

Dana shifted to her human form as well, blood still dripping from the corners of her mouth. She licked her lips as she glared after the truck. "Yeah, I got him."


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 4: Skeletal Horror_

A loud hiss of compression air-breaks echoed across the darkened parking lot. The rumbling engine leaving a deep vibration in the air as side lights from the refrigeration trailer and the red glow from the brakes illuminated the immediate area.

To be honest with himself, John Kuntz was lost. A truck driver for only five years, he hadn't yet been able to navigate his way around Denver's confusing cross streets. He was overweight and a layer of stubble was growing prominently around his jaw. His shirt was thin and had several holes in it while any pants he wore had to be sweat pants. No one made any jeans for men his size that didn't cost an arm and a leg.

He had turned off the wrong off-ramp, and ended up taking a drive through the Mile High City's downtown trying to find his way back to the interstate. It hadn't worked in his favor.

The driver had ended up taking more back streets that looked like they could get him back onto the interstate, but his unfamiliarity with Denver lead him farther away. The sight of cars driving on the highway just several hundred yards away seemed to mock him in his current situation. He knew he was south east of Denver, and from what he could tell was on the far southern edges of Aurora.

On a stretch of abandoned warehouses and manufacturing plants that had seen better days. In the last few years the economy downfall had affected smaller manufacturers, forcing them to close shop. Such buildings were common around the Denver area.

Wanting to get some rest for the night, but unable to find any thing close to a truck stop, he pulled into the empty lot. It didn't look like the safest place to park, and he did have a load of food that had to get to Atlanta in two days. For worst case scenarios, he could expect some punks trying to break into the trailer, but they wouldn't be able to take much. He could also see a cop or something knocking on his door, demanding an explanation, and maybe giving directions. Secretly John hopped for the latter.

He opened his log book and started keeping track of his hours for the day and his distance driven. Having to 'fudge' a few numbers here and there was illegal, but when the company ran him the way they did, John didn't have much of a choice. With less than a few days to get from one end of the country to the other, he was always worrying that someone would check is log books and find out he had fixed his numbers. That could cost him his license and job. At least he had a job.

Finished with his log he tossed the book onto the passenger seat before he reached back to look at the road map again. The interior of the truck cab was covered in trash and garbage, used food wrappers and some adult movies laying on the bed within arms reach of the TV/VCR in one of the shelf holes. John read the map, trying to backtrack through his mind where he had turned in getting lost.

There was a movement that caught his attention. Looking up he tried to see what had moved. It had seemed to be at the edges of his headlights as they illuminated one of the buildings about sixty yards ahead of him. After not seeing anything new, he went back to the map.

Another movement, this time from his rear-view mirror. John watched the reflective surface, sure something had ran behind the trailer, illuminated by a dull yellow glow. He checked the passenger side mirror. Nothing.

His hand reached for the pistol resting behind his seat. Life on the road wasn't kind in any fashion, and having a gun meant the difference from getting paid or having it stolen. He held it below the windows as he tried to look out and see what was moving around the truck. There wasn't much to see.

Glimpses of something, roughly dog sized was running around the truck. One second it was on his side, crawling under the trailer, the next he could see something moving just out of the headlights glow. There was either a very fast one, or several surrounding the truck now.

A smell started to flow in from the outside. A deep raw stench of mold and rotting eggs.

He heard clicks. Short, high-pitched clicks close to his door, but nothing outside. John held the gun steady as the clicks seemed to come from everywhere now. They stopped short just before along screeching sound of someone running metal on metal echoed in the cab. John looked at the driver's side. He saw motion just under the door, as the sound magnified, something scrapping against the door.

With a shout of surprise and terror, he fired blindly at the door. Bullets ripped through the plastic before punching out of the truck door as the gun's explosions drowned out the scrapping sound. The glass shattered as bullets burst through it as well.

The explosions of the gun died down, swiftly replaced by the semi's rumbling engine. There was no more clicking, no scratching on the door panels, nothing but the engine running.

John looked around, wide eyed. No movement around the truck. No sound other than the running engine. He sat there, for several minutes, afraid to move.

Fumbling around for another clip, he clumsily re-loaded the weapon, leaving the half-empty clip on the floorboard. The smell was filling the cab, more pungent than a skunk.

Afraid, he thought about driving away, getting out. However he was so lost that such an act could leave him even worse off. Maybe on some back road, not sure which way the highway was. John gripped the door handle, the gun in his other hand. With a click, the tumblers released and he pushed the driver's side door open.

He stole a glance outside. Nothing outside the door. Pushing it open farther, John held the gun in one hand while he lowered himself onto the gravel lot. The feeling of his feet displacing the gravel let him know that he was on the ground. John looked around the truck and trailer. Looking under the trailer, and expecting someone, or something to jump out at him. Nothing.

John stepped back, wanting to get into the cab. He wanted to drive, to get out of this place, and away from whatever was after him.

The clicking started again. That high-pitched sound that seemed to come from several sources in the area. John looked out into the darkness, held at bay by the lights of the trailer. There was nothing but the far off lights of residential areas and then Denver proper. Yet the clicking sound continued, getting louder, coming in from all sides. Tiny beads of red light floated in the darkness.

John didn't see anything but himself on that vacant lot, but the sounds came from everywhere at once. He swung the gun around before noticing that he wasn't alone. A nightmare was standing next to him, with a floating red light in its eye.

His yell of surprise was caught in his throat as something wiped out from the monstrosities' mouth, wrapping around his neck, and puncturing through the skin with two large fangs. The last thing he saw was the empty black socket with the glowing red eye amidst the light from the trailer.

* * *

If Vincent had wanted to stay asleep, the smell burning its way through his nostrils wasn't going to let him. The rumbling of the semi trailer and engine were edging him awake as well, pulling him to consciousness. He was in pain, and he wanted to sleep it off.

Hard metal was under him, slightly distorted from where he had landed. He let out a moan of pain as his legs and body ached from the impact of hitting the semi. Rolling onto his back, he winced as his left shoulder burned with pain. He laid there, trying to regain his breath and the strength to move. The smell was bad, pungent. It left a nasty taste in his mouth, making him think of rotting meat and eggs. There was also a taste of stale copper on the back of his tongue.

Vincent looked up at the night sky, the stars few and far between. The ambient light from the trailer faded the night sky to black.

The detective had knocked himself unconscious when he landed onto the trailer. Such a shock to his body shut his mind down. He didn't even know where he was any more. His body burned and ached, mostly his shoulder were the werewolf had bit him. Bracing himself he reached with his right hand to see how bad the wound was. Pain rocketed through him as his hand touched raw flesh. Blood had soaked through, leaving a large red stain on his clothes and the inside of the coat.

He gritted his teeth as he tried to feel the wound. As hard as he had been bitten, the wound wasn't that bad. A few puncture marks from where the canines had cut through his coat and muscle. There was a lot of blood though, he could smell it.

A mix of scents was on the air, almost overloading his nose. Semi exhaust, the rotten smell of eggs and meat, his blood, gun powder. Vincent started breathing through his mouth, to ease the signals in his nose. He pushed himself up, holding his left arm still as he sat up on the trailer, trying to get his bearings.

The truck was parked in an empty lot. No lights except from the semi and trailer acing as a beacon. Off in the distance he could see street lights and brighter ambient light from a town, and a highway was off a-ways as well. The smell made him think he was close to a treatment plant of some sort.

He was lost, that much was sure.

Vincent looked around for his staff. He found it lodged into one of the ledges of the semi trailer where he had landed. Taking it carefully the detective started to retract the segments. It would have been easier with two hands, but he didn't want to tear what muscles had been bitten through. There was also the fact that his body was doing something, and his mind could think.

He had been bitten by a werewolf. From what he could recall, a shapeshifter was either a human who has made a deal with the devil, or was a cursed animal. The curse to change from man to wolf was transmitted through a bite or some other form of attack. And any cure meant death by a silver bullet. That really wasn't an option to him. Any manifestation of the werewolf curse would take hold at the next full moon.

But the sky was empty. A new moon. About two to three weeks until the full moon. Vincent didn't know how he knew that, but he was also letting his mind work on its own so he didn't care.

With his staff reset, he slid it onto his belt were the holster rested. A plan was working together in his head. He'd get off the trailer, see if the driver was awake, try and treat his bite mark, and make it to the highway to find out where he was. After that he'd head back to Denver. After all, he still had a job to do.

He looked over the side, trying to judge the distance from the top of the trailer to the ground. It was between twelve to thirteen feet. About as high as the jump from the library roof, but that didn't help the fact it wasn't going to be pleasant. Vincent readied himself and tried to lower himself down along the side of the trailer with his good arm and shoulder. His hand slipped and the gravel scrapped away from him as he hit. Rocks poked and prodded his back as he lay on the ground.

Vincent's body was burning. Bruised muscles and the pain in his left shoulder forced out a hiss of pain from the injuries. He didn't want to move. He wanted to lay there on the gravel and heal. The detectives body burned, aching in a dull pain. Nothing felt broken, but his shoulder was still on fire. Such a dull ache and pain along his body made it difficult to move, but he couldn't lay in the dirt all night.

Another wince of pain and he pushed himself up and off the gravel. He was a bit disoriented from the pain running through his body as his muscles ached with every movement. The gravel crunched under his boots as he walked along the truck to the cab. There was light coming from the inside, but also through several holes in the passenger door.

As he got closer, he recognized the holes as exit marks of bullets. Surprised and confused, he pressed his body against the trailer and looked into the mirror on the passenger side. No one was in the cab. He tried the door, but it was locked. Sneaking around the front of the running truck he looked at the driver's side.

The door was open, and there was something laying a few feet behind the open door.

Vincent looked up through the window into the truck cab. No one was inside, despite the lights being on. Quietly he walked around to the thing laying on the gravel. The smell seemed to intensify, and if he didn't know any better, he would swear he smelled dried meat.

He stepped back in shock when he saw it. A dessicated body lay on the ground, clothes hanging from bones pushing against the skin as it pulled taunt against them like plastic. The body looked like it had been vacuum sealed, pulling the skin tight against the body, stretching against the holes in the skull and spaces between the ribs. In a word; mummified.

Vincent swallowed the bile rearing up in his stomach and stepped closer, walking around the body. Whatever clothes it had on looked like they were made for a much bigger man than the dried corpse suggested. Wincing against the pain in his legs, the detective squatted down next to the body. The light from the truck and trailer made it difficult to see what had happened to the body before it died, so he took out his flashlight.

The first thought running through Vincent's mind as the light illuminated the body was that the face looked distorted, as if it had been screaming as it died. He was also able to tell that the body had belonged to a male, although the age could have been anything. As he shined the light on the body, he noticed pairs of holes along the skin, two large ones in the neck, and there was no blood.

His mind thought about what he saw. Two large holes in the neck, smaller ones along the body, no blood. Could it have been a vampire? Maybe. But why did he still smell blood? There was none on the corpse or ground, and the smell didn't seem like him.

Light reflected off of something in the man's hand and Vincent pointed the light towards it. It was a small pistol. Vincent reached over and picked it up by the barrel with his thumb and fore finger. The mummified hand went with it, the clicking of bones echoing in Vincent's ears before the skin and muscle shredded like paper, letting the bones and flakes of skin fall to the ground.

Vincent examined the pistol. It was an easy one to get a hold of, and he knew of a few back home who carried them. He smelled the barrel and recoiled at the heavy scent of gunpowder. It had been fired recently, and a lot. But at what? The holes in the passenger side looked like he had shot at something outside the truck. And why was he outside? The driver's door was still wide open, the truck a beacon of light in the empty lot, and it didn't looked forced open.

The detective caught a fleeting movement behind one of the trailer axles. He looked carefully, the rumbling truck making it difficult to hear anything. The lights made it difficult to see anything beyond them, and the smell of burning diesel rotten eggs, and the body burned his nostrils. Vincent stayed still as he narrowed his eyes, looking for movement around the trailer.

He saw something in the light of the lights along the bottom corner of the trailer, but he wasn't sure what he was looking at. It was an animal about the size of a dog, but it wasn't anything like a dog. Its body seemed to consist mostly of bones being held together by masses of bare muscle and tendon, a disturbing sight in the red-yellow illumination. The thing had two arms, held close to the body and grasping at the air as it moved. Its head lowered to the ground. The head was long and wedge-shaped, resembling a dinosaur skull in some way. Malformed teeth lined the jaws and lead to bone protrusions resembling smaller teeth up along the length of the snout before giving way to a single row of recurved spines running along the body. Most of the skull was exposed bone with some flesh and tendons hanging off and connecting the lower jaw to the rest of the skull.

Vincent watched as the head lowered, bobbing slightly and swiveling around the ground.. He recognized the area as where he had fallen while getting off the trailer. A realization washed over him, sending a chill of fear down the detective's spine.

He was being hunted.

The detective's mind raced as he looked around, trying to come up with a plan of escape. He could jump into the truck and drive it out, but he couldn't drive stick, and the first cop to pull him over would have him in jail. Maybe hole himself in the truck calling for help on the citizen's ban? Doubtful, who'd believe him. The thing might be able to tear its way inside anyway, then what? There were the buildings, maybe he could find somewhere to hide, or some weapons better than his sai and staff.

First he needed to get some distance between it and him.

He clutched the barrel with his hand, holding it, readying his right arm. With some exertion, he flung the gun by the trailer, where he heard the metal clink against the gravel just behind the trailer's hind axle.

The thing reared its head back, turning towards the sound. Silently it turned and slowly made its way to the source of the sound. Vincent waited until it was just past one of the tires before he moved.

Crunching and scraping of gravel sounded in the air as Vincent picked himself up, running for the buildings illuminated by the trucks headlights. Skidding to a stop he hit the door with a metal thud before looking at the doors. There wasn't much holding the doors together, just a rusty chain and an old lock.

Vincent dug in his coat for one of his sai before setting it in one of the loops of chain. A hard twist with strength he didn't know he had, the chain link snapped like peanut brittle before rattling to the ground with a metal echo. Another attempt, he pushed the doors apart with a loud creek of the hinges as Vincent ran inside. Careful to close the doors behind him before he ducked into the building, illuminated by the trucks lights shining through the windows.

* * *

The loud thing was still rumbling but it ignored the sounds it made. There was something else here. Something to be hunted.

It had fed off the last kill, shared with its kin. It hadn't been enough. It needed more. It wanted more.

Prey was around. It could smell it. The pulse of life echoed nearby.

Even while the rest of its kin returned to the structures they considered their den, it stayed around. The cravings for more food driving it forward. It could tell there was prey here. Just not where. It caught the scent of something and tried to find it.

A sound. Close. Hitting the small rocks and pebbles that it stood on. It turned. Scents whiffed in through its nostrils for the scent. The smell was off, but the sound incited it.

There was nothing, but a piece of metal that smelled of fire and earth. Movement. Its head swung up and the shades of light originating from the rumbling metal illuminated the structure close to the den. Something was there, making its way inside.

Yes. Prey. The hunt was on.

The need for food burned. Its body ached and strained with the movement of bone against muscle.

Motions of the hunt came naturally. Moving silently, sniffing for the scent of prey, feeling fresh blood beating with a pulsing heart. Fresh blood. It wanted it. The taste. The life-giving liquid that coursed through everything. The need rose within.

On its own, it didn't have to share the kill with its kin. Such a kill, all its own, would make it more within the hive.

Yes the hive. Its kin. It could call them for aid, but it would have less blood for itself. No. It wanted all of the blood.

The prey had hidden in one of the structures. Was it connected to the den? It didn't matter.

There was two thin metal walls blocking it. It was a minor annoyance as it smelled the prey hiding within. A break in the metal walls gave in with a high pitched squeal. It wasn't a prey sound, so it was ignored.

Inside was a room. The smell of metal, dirt, and dust filled the slits in the nose. There was another smell, a sensation that made it let out small clicks of glee. Blood. Pulsing, coursing through its prey. It was here, it could smell it.

The room had rows of structures, metal and wood filings, nearly as tall as it was. Light beamed from the rumbling thing outside. Decay and dust were on the air, but it could smell blood. Blood so fresh, so delicious, so near. And fear. The hunt was its, and it would enjoy the sensation.

Around some of the rows of structures and metal. Following the scent of blood. Fresh and dried along the way. Smelling with its tongue, as it danced along the floor. Annoying tastes of wood and metal, getting closer with each step.

The prey wasn't running, but it was wounded.

It could smell the blood very close, just over a long structure separating it. It was impatient, not wanting to wait. Crouching it jumped upon the structure, grinding the bones of its legs against the flat top. The prey was close, and it was standing. Not moving at all.

Its tongue could get a better idea. The shadows obscured what it could see, and it could get a better sense with its tongue. It snaked out, extending closer to its prey as it stood there, obscured by shadows.

* * *

Vincent was terrified, but fear was combining with other instincts as he hid within the building. It was an old manufacturing warehouse, long tables and equipment was still left. He had stumbled along in the dark, trying to find a place to hide. Finding one wasn't easy though.

Lights shining in from the truck outside had difficulty coming through the windows on the sides, and the boarded windows on the side facing the truck. Beams of lights cut through the darkness, but it wasn't enough to give him an idea of any places to go or hide. He wasn't sure if there was another way out of the main building without going through the same door he broke in through, and then the creature came through.

The smell was unbearable.

At the moment Vincent was crouched down behind a long assembly line table, pressing his back against it. His left arm was hanging limp, the pain still burning through his mind, but the pain was over-ridden with fear and his drive to hide. In his right hand was one of his sai, gripped hard in his palm. Silent, even his breaths came so quiet that only the beat of his heart reminded him he was still alive. Vincent wanted to slink back, become one with the shadows, hide away and be enveloped by the darkness.

As he waited, his eyes became accustomed to the dark, letting him catch starker details. Parts of the building were broken down, wasted, but still remained mostly standing. The equipment and tools were scattered around the tables as left overs from when whatever business had shut down.

Across the ground between the rows of tables where he hid, there was a pole on wheels with metal hooks towards the top. There were some old worn cables hanging from some of the hooks. An idea came to mind. If it was smelling him, maybe he could distract it.

Now as he watched, fear crawling up his spine, as the thing perched on the table. It stood there, it's wedge-shaped head looking at the pole that his trench coat was hanging from. A deep throated clicking coming from the it, the head a mere three feet above his own. He wasn't sure why he was doing this. Setting up a trap for this creature, getting ready to attack it, kill it. Right now it wasn't fully registering with his mind yet either.

Vincent watched, and waited.

The creature opened its mouth and he could see a long tendril about the width of an aluminum can snake its way out. Slowly it covered the distance from the creature's mouth to his coat, touching it like it was an extra hand. There was the sound of something sharp running over the fabric, focusing where the blood from the bite had dried. The tongue-tendril patted down his coat more around the blood before he heard something puncture through the layers.

A fire rose within Vincent. He was injured, hunted, afraid, and hiding. His frustration with the situation, burned like a deep hearted rage within him. The grip on his sai shifted as Vincent's lips curled back, showing off his clenched teeth. Spinning and standing straight up, thrusting the sai up and a roar coming from his throat.

Normal octigonal sai are blunt weapons originally used for sword breaking and catching. In order to give himself some kind of edge, Vincent had worked on filing the center prong to a sharp point. It could work for a good stabbing weapon but was weak at slashing. The other advantage was he could conceal it just as well as a large knife, and had worked on being able to draw it just as fast.

The sharpened point of the sai erupted through the top part of the skull. The lower jaw had no flesh covering it, allowing the two prongs of the sai to catch the bone and snap it shut. Vincent's sai had broken through the pallet bone of the creature before bursting through the top of the creature's skull. Shutting the mouth with such force caused the teeth to slice through the tongue leaving, it to fall with a platter of blood onto the floor. The creature let out a muffled shriek of pain and surprise, caught in the throat.

With the sai lodged in its skull and pinning its jaw shut, Vincent had leverage. Twisting the head he brought the thing off balance and crashing onto the floor. The thing pulled Vincent on top of it, both of them rolling around on the ground, slamming into tables and woorkbenches. Claws tore at Vincent, flailing wildly at him. He tried to keep it back, holding the head back with his injured arm as the claws slashed in blurred swipes.

A primal fear gripped Vincent as he grappled with this thing. It was coupled with a growing anger and desire to fight back with everything he had. The fear seemed to dwindle back every second, every swing and slash, until the fury within him rose to full power.

The creature still grappling with him, Vincent managed to roll it onto it's back as he pinned it down with his own weight. Straddling it, he grabbed his compressed staff from its holster and preceded to beat the creature. Bone broke and muscle tore as he threw everything he had into attacking and killing the creature. He lost himself in the frenzy, blood flying from the body even as it tried to fight back, the claws tearing through his shirt. His fist and staff breaking through the ribs and pounding and tearing through whatever internal organs it had.

He had induced a lot of damage, but it wasn't enough. Pinning down one of the arms and pushing the head back, Vincent bit down with a horrific fury. His teeth bit through flesh and tendons, the smell lost to him as he pulled back. The thing tried to shriek, the vibrations running through the flesh in Vincent's teeth as the detective reared back with all of his strength.

The flesh gave, ripping with a sickening wet shred as the creature's death cry faded. Its body stopped moving beneath him as the mass of flesh fell from his mouth, landing on the floor with a wet plop. He stayed there, glaring at the body under him, breathing heavily and a growl to his breath.

His mind returned as the detective's frenzy died down. Vincent's eyes widened as he looked at the broken body beneath him. The scent of rotting eggs covered him, mixed with the smell and taste of blood. Disgusting stagnant blood in his mouth, along with shreds of muscle fibers between his teeth and resting on his tongue. He was covered in blood. His own and the creatures. Vincent's hand was raw and bleeding from slamming into the creature's torso.

Bile rose in his throat and he threw himself to the floor. His stomach lurched, emptying the contents in a burning liquid that also ran a through his nose. The detective's spasms took a few minutes to die down. He wouldn't be eating McDonald's for a while.

Vincent held himself up, not looking at the mess he left. The smells still burned his nose and the taste of blood threatened another round of stomach convulsions. He forced himself to breathe, to calm down. Shivers ran down his body from the after effects of losing his lunch. Wiping his face off he looked back at the broken body of whatever he had killed.

While his eyes were adjusted to the darkness, he couldn't see exact details. Weak-kneed he steadied himself as he stood up, making his way to his coat and digging for the flashlight. The light cut through the darkness, and Vincent realized he wasn't going to like looking at what he had done to whatever it was.

He didn't know what had caused his stomach to lurch. It may have been the fact he killed something with such a fury that he had never known existed within him. Or the repugnant taste of rotten flesh and stagnant blood. Maybe because the fight itself had been a blur of flesh and claws in his mind.

The light flashed on the body, broken and lifeless on the floor surrounded by a puddle of blood and broken bone. His sai was still there, jutting into the elongated skull, pinning the lower and upper parts together. A ragged bit of flesh was hanging between the front teeth, where the tongue had been bitten off. That was laying around his coat, still hanging on the pole by him.

Vincent noticed that the creature did have flesh, what small amount there was. It seemed to be mostly attaching bone to bone with strands of fibers and ligaments. By all accounts it shouldn't even be alive. What little internal organs it had were reduced to shreds. Flesh and skin around the skull and body were few and far between making it look more like a walking corpse that was more skeleton than muscle.

He walked up to the body, and took a hold of his sai. Holding tightly he planted a foot on the skull and pulled back, breaking more bits of bone as the weapon was wrenched free. The force caused him to stumble back as the skull twisted, leaving the mouth agape towards him. A fresh whiff of rotting eggs and flesh met his nose and he nearly gagged on his own bile again.

Reaching for his trench coat, he was aware that his left arm wasn't burning with pain. Vincent felt his left shoulder under the shirt. Dried blood was still there, but he didn't feel any of the puncture marks. Fresh skin, smooth and covered with blood. His shoulder felt sore, but it was like he had rammed his shoulder into something instead of having a werewolf bite him.

What was happening?

Vincent looked at the floor away from the dead creature and trying to hold onto the pole for stability. The flashlight illuminating the tongue laying at his feet. Light glinted off of two long protrusions along a bulb at the end of the tongue. A thought ran through his mind and he crouched down.

Taking the tongue in one hand he looked at the bulb and bony protrusions. It had a similar feel to it like the neck from a Thanksgiving turkeyHe looked at the two points, a memory coming back to him of the corpse by the truck. There were multiple pairs of holes on the body, most were small, but there were also a pair of large ones. The size of this creature's tongue-teeth matched the smaller pair of marks. But what of the larger ones?

Was there another one of these things? Was it bigger? Was there more of them?

He didn't have any answers, and the possible answers scared him.

This added to his list of troubles. A vampire, a group of werewolves, beings that he didn't comprehend wanting him dead, and now these skeletons. The drive to hide tugged at him again, but was also his own desire to know what was going on. And the fact he desperately needed a smoke.

Vincent set the flashlight down on a table as he put his coat back on. After setting his sai back into the holder he dug around for his carton of cigarettes. Already the news wasn't good as he noted the weight of the package. It was empty.

"Oh fuck me running," he mumbled before dropping the carton on the floor in a crumpled wad. He took the light and illuminated parts of the interior, looking for a door or equipment that was left over he could use. Much of the metal was rusted and worn, the equipment had oil and grease stains on the exterior of the mechanics. If there was any thing useful, it would be few and far between.

Still covered in blood, and trying to wipe it away, Vincent continued exploring the large room. He could hear the truck outside as the refrigeration unit started back up again, becoming louder than the engine itself. The smell was still bad, and he had to pick the flesh from between his teeth just to get the taste out. It still lingered in his mouth, no matter how much he spit. Why the hell did he bite it?

As he made his way further into the room, along one of the walls, he saw a doorway that opened further into the building. Vincent pressed on, searching for answers. His footsteps leaving deep da-thuds on the floor.

The rumbling of the truck engine died down as he got farther inside the building. Even the sound of his own breathing calmed down, being next to silent. His light showed off things in the dark, checking for any more of the creatures that belonged to the dead one's brood. Thinking of what it could be, the desire to flip through the Book itching in his fingers, but Vincent didn't want to get the pages bloody and stuck.

A whisper floated behind him and he spun. The flashlight cut a beam through the darkness to show nothing behind him. Shivers ran through his body, an all too familiar sensation. Darkness seemed to creep up around him, sending a deep hearted feeling of dread flowing with the shadows. His flashlight started to flicker, the light breaking as it gave out.

Vincent could feel the terror rising in his gut. He hit the flashlight, muttering curses to various gods. Trying to get the light to work again. The batteries couldn't have been dead, such small lights usually lasted for months before needing a replacement. It decided now of all times to conk out on him.

Voices once more, a single one this time. It was close, but he couldn't see anything without his light. He knew it was close. Another being like the ones he had seen before, always hidden unless he tried to see them. This one was in the same room, he felt as if the darkness itself had substance to it. And it surrounded him.

He kept hitting the light in frustration, even going so far as to unscrew the battery pack and slipping the batteries in and out. Fighting through the dread growing around him. The shadows thickening around him, circling him like a shark. He couldn't see anything, and that wasn't helping his plight. Even the faint lights from the semi outside were more obscure.

There was a cold touch on his shoulder, a whisper in his ear. Vincent spun around, stumbling backwards.

What was in front of him was beyond anything he could explain. A floating phantasm, shrouded in darkness without much form other than what the shadows allowed. It had no shape, at least none that he could see, swirling the shadows around him, rising up to nearly his height. The whisper of shadows seemed to speak to him, or at him, it was difficult to tell.

Words reached the detective's ears. He didn't understand them, but the darkness shifted as if it was speaking. Vincent tried to step back, to get away, but his legs were frozen to the spot as it leaned in closer to him. Even as the shadows swirled closer to his face he couldn't hear anything above a faint whisper. It almost seemed to touch him, a cold feeling of black and shadows was washing over his body, and Vincent was afraid.

The flashlight started to spark to life, a few flashes like lightning before the beam cut through the apparition. It reeled back before it dissipated into nothing, allowing Vincent to fall back on his rear with a loud thud and scattering of metal tools. He sat there, wide eyed as the flashlight cut through the darkness. There was no vision of the thing, even as the light shined directly on it. It just seemed to absorb all light, and nothing could give its true shape.

"What the hell is going on," Vincent muttered out loud. The flashlight swung around as he stood back up. Every shadow could hide something, every turn could be his last. He was on edge even more now.

His light cut through the darkness as he looked for a light switch or some kind of light source. There were lights along the ceiling, but Vincent didn't see where the light switch would be connected. The light illuminated the darker patches of shadows that he saw, and he saw the door he spotted earlier.

Smiling, he increased his pace to the door and braced himself. He didn't know what he'd see on the other side. Vincent caught a strong whiff of rotten food and stagnant blood, stopping him. Could there be more creatures behind the door? The memory of the creature he killed and the taste came back, forcing him to swallow back his lunch.

A sound of clicking met his ears. High pitched with a throaty gargle. It wasn't only that, there were several collections of the sounds. Clicking, chattering, and reminding the detective of the death sound that the creature made.

He looked at one of the un-boarded windows. Light from the truck lit up part of the walkway between the set of buildings, and Vincent saw shadows walking towards the parking lot. Their shadows cut off the beams of light cutting through the boarded windows as Vincent heard them moving away, but getting closer to the doors to the manufacturing room he was in.

Frantic, he started shining the light for an exit, somewhere to hide. Whatever he had killed, there were more coming, and he couldn't fight them all. The flashlight exposed an air ventilation duct. It was a few feet above his head in the side of the wall, but it looked like he could fit in there. He just couldn't reach it.

Scrounging around for whatever he could get, Vincent managed to cover the two feet separating him from safety. The vent covering only had two screws keeping it in, and he wedged one of his sai to use as a lever to rip it from the covering. A quick look inside reassured Vincent that he could fit into the duct work.

The clicking was increasing. More bodies being added to the mass coming towards him. The doors to the front opened as some thing or things made their way into the room. Vincent didn't have much time. Tossing the flashlight into the duct he hoped a short hop before trying to haul himself up and into the metal duct. The detective wasn't the strongest individual, and had been known for failing various physical tests in high school gym class. But now, as he was scrambling for his life, he managed to haul himself up and into the ventilation system.

Just as creatures started prowling the room he was just in.

* * *

Dana snorted as Doomwise opened the back of the van, letting the _Urhan_ form werewolf out. The smell was burning her nose and every breath made her nostrils catch on fire. She shifted to her human form, a fast and primal shift from wolf to man before she voiced her complaints.

"Damn," she hissed, covering her nose and mouth. "Whoever had the burrito didn't spare the beans did they?"

The _Hishu_, or human form, was an uneasy one for a werewolf to take. While physically there was no difference between a werewolf in human form from a normal human, it was torture to some _Uratha_. Wolf forms unveil a realm of senses to the werewolf, and _Hishu_ was like putting a damper on those senses after wrapping the head in a burlap sack, pinching the nose, and plugs in the ears. Right now Dana was glad her human nose wasn't as sensitive as her wolf one.

After watching the man jump from the library's roof, the pack regrouped for the hunt. Since she was able to get a taste of his blood, Dana was able to track him. No matter how far he ran, where he hid, Dana would be able to find him because the taste of his scent was burned into her memory. After a year it might fade, but the pack wasn't going to wait a year. Since he was also bleeding, it helped them track him down. Using the smell of the blood on the air to track the wounded prey down.

The rest of the pack exited the van, just after Elias had parked it next to the rumbling semi sitting in the vacant gravel lot. He killed the engine and eyed the semi while the pack disembarked. "You're sure this is where he went Dana?"

"Huh? Oh yeah," she replied after clearing her nose. "The guy's here alright. But damn, that smells awful."

Elias had to agree. It was bad. The scent of rotting eggs and meat made the Storm Lord breathe through his mouth.

Heartsblood had exited the van behind Dana, but was silent. The smell was bad yes, but nothing to be so vocal about. His bare feet touched the course gravel, but he did not flinch or hiss in pain. The bottom of his feet were covered in calluses, thick from not wearing shoes for so long. A human might be worried about infection, but a werewolf's healing ability kept that concern at bay.

The _Edoloth_ dropped to all fours as his body started to shift. Muscles and fur rippled as bones and tendons stretched, snapped, and re-wove themselves under the skin. The sensation of shapeshifting rolled over his body as Heartsblood felt the change in perception and orientation of his body. It was a sensation that he had gotten used to, and could make the change as swift as a sparrow should the need arise. As his body ceased the change in shape similar to a wolf, he was more than just a wolf.

Heartsblood was in a wolf form, or rather, a larger wolf form. Five feet at the shoulders with a massive head and neck. He was longer than the wolf form as well, nearly reaching seven feet in length. Barrell chested with strong muscles under the fur of his legs and torso. Long claws clicked against the gravel as he stretched feeling into the limbs of the _Urshul_, or near-wolf, form he was in. _Urshul_ was much stronger than _Urhan_, evident by the larger build and stockier body shape, the form was closer to the extinct dire wolf. It was also faster and had numerous muscles along the neck, giving it a strong anchor for any kind of bite.

The pads of Heartsblood's feet deadened the feeling of the loose rock and stone while he silently walked ahead of the pack. He sniffed the air, what little he could before opening his mouth and breathing. Of course now he could taste rotting eggs on his tongue, and that wasn't much better. The smell was bad, but it brought with it a growing unease in the Hunter in Darkness. The scent was maddening, burning his nose. Nothing in his memory of Denver could match the smell. It wasn't deep enough for a water treatment facility or thick like car exhaust. It wasn't any other kind of animal smell either.

The _Edoloth_ walked around the back of the semi trailer, peeking around the back axel. He had been in the back of the van when they pulled up, and he didn't see the driver's side door open until now. Not only that, but there was another scent on the air, mixing with the sickening odor. It was similar to dried meat.

His eyes scanned the ground. While the _Urshul_ eyes lacked the color recognition of human eyes, it was able to see the differences in illumination. Making them useful for night or low-light surveillance. There was something, a body, laying on the ground next to the semi's double axle.

"_Trouble_," he barked at the pack before making his way closer to the body.

Doomwise jogged to the body her packmate had pointed out before crouching beside it. She was in _Dalu_, white hair growing around her jaw. The smell told her it had been poorly mummified, the flesh and skin barely holding the skeleton together. The clothes made it seem as if the man had been much larger than the skeleton suggested. However with the meat dried and the skin pulled taunt across the body, it could have been any size when alive.

Elias crouched down at the feet of the body, before lifting one of the legs. He could feel the bones grind against each other within the skin. "Could he have done this," he asked Doomwise.

The _Cahalith_ shook her head. "I've never heard of a _nuzusul_ doing this."

"_It could be a spirit,_" Heartsblood added. "_But I don't sense any._"

Doomwise held the body's head in her hands. She rotated it back and forth, staring into the shriveled eye sockets. There was an air of dominance as she stared at the dried skin and flesh. As if sensing the presence of a predator, the meat started to peal back as the Bone Shadow glared at the body. Skin and flesh pealed back, flaking off like paint chips or long stretches of dried tree bark, leaving the pale bones behind. What had been the flesh had sloughed away, dropping into piles of rotting jerky.

The entire skeleton was free of the flesh that had covered it, while still wrapped with bits of the clothing. Doomwise picked up the skull, gazing into the now empty sockets. She glared into the black holes, exerting an air of something higher up the food chain than the skeleton. Demanding on a subtle level for it to bow down and do what she wanted. She could tell the way in which the man died, as the bones seemed to speak to her of the death.

"His blood was drained and his organs liquefied, an hour and a half ago." Her voice was faint as she stared at the skull. When she looked away from the skull, her eyes were unfocused, but started to readjust.

"His organs?" Elias had a look of confusion on his face. Doomwise was just as confused.

"Someone went off prematurely," Kalila stated as she walked around the front of the truck with Dana close behind. "There are gun holes through the other door."

Heartsblood looked around at the darkness. The news was unsettling to say the least. Something had drained the body dry, leaving it here. And the _nuzusul_ was in the area as well. He was still unsure about whether the soon-to-be werewolf was actually Father Wolf reborn. Such a thing had heavy consequences for all _Uratha_ for sure, but there was no sure way to know if Doomwise was correct. The _Edoloth_ supported his packmate and her visions. That did not mean he didn't have his own doubts however.

He would save his reservations until they had found the _nuzusul_.

"Get your kliaves," Elias said coldly. The alpha was expecting a fight.

Dana smiled, the smile that Heartsblood knew she only showed when battle was close at hand. Almost like a school-girl, she bounded over to the van, followed by a more composed Elias. Dana pulled out a long wooden shafted spear. The spear had feathers tied at the base where the spear-head was connected to the shaft. She also retrieved a tomahack from the back of the van, placing it in a holster along her belt, next to her bone-carved dagger. Elias reached for his own weapon, a massive great sword. The sword was double-edged, with the handle wrapped in leather and a clawed hand grasping an orb. Curving up from where the blade met the handle, the hilt matched the fur along the sides of a wolf's head, with the blade as the snout. Eyes were carved in the center of the hilt.

Elias slung the sheath belt over his shoulder, holding one hand onto the handle. "We're after the person that holds Father Wolf's soul. We don't know how far he is from the First Change, but we can't just ignore him. Find him, and bring him out, got it?" The alpha exhumed an air of confidence that seemed to bolster his pack and their resolve. He wanted them at their best, and a few words of encouragement never hurt. "Dana, Heart, Kalila, take the far buildings. Doom and I will search the others. Return here in an hour."

"Don't be so serious, Elias," Kalila commented. "He's just fresh meat, no trouble."

He shot a glare at her. "I'm not dragging your corpse back."

"Fine fine," she relented. "We'll watch ourselves. Like we always do."

"Move," he said as his body shifted into _Dalu_, Doomwise following behind him.

Kalila waited a bit before stating. "I swear he's such a hard-ass."

"_His drive hasn't let us down yet,_"

"Yeah but he could still let himself go once in a while," Kalila replied.

Dana was already stalking away from the other two, it was hunting time, and she wanted to play.

The _Edoloth_ walked after Dana as Kalila kept her pace with his. She wasn't a leader, Heartsblood knew that, she did haver her place to be a leader. But not here, and not now. So Kalila couldn't comprehend the pressure on Elias. A pressure the _Rahu_ had done well in hiding to keep the others from knowing, even though Heartsblood could tell. The two hadn't shed blood so often that they couldn't tell what was on the other's minds.

It was the reason Heartsblood was given his name after changing and joining the _Uratha_. He could read people and werewolves. It was an ability he had to tell a person's true personality through their actions and words. Of course this empathy had been a double edged sword. When dealing with Elias, Heartsblood had to be careful around the Storm Lord. That tribe's own pride and high reverence of abolishing weakness forced Elias to put on a confidant air, even though he was still getting used to his own life as a werewolf. Often Heartsblood was reduced to the silent beta of the pack, being Elias' ears and eyes for anything that might disrupt the pack's effectiveness. Also an ear for the rest of the pack to criticize their alpha or their own troubles.

Even though they may have resented Elias for being 'high-and-mighty' Heartsblood knew the respect was there, whether they admitted it or not.

Their _Irraka_ was already starting to meld in with the shadows as she neared one of the buildings they were going to inspect. Heartsblood shifted his weight, his steps becoming hushed on the gravel. Kalila wasn't one for stealth, and the Hunter in Darkness flinched as he heard her foot falls like gun-shots in an enclosed room. The physical world wasn't her hunting grounds, but the Shadow was.

Burning smells snaked their way into his nose, and Heartsblood had to concentrate so he didn't sneeze from the tickling in his sinuses.

The doors of the building were off their hinges, and Dana had disappeared inside. Kalila and Heartsblood followed, being cautious as they made their way inside the decrepit building. Heartsblood could see the piles of discarded machinery and cargo carts piled on the floor with a single cleared pathway between them. There was a scent of dried wood and rusted metal permeating the air with the burning stench of rotting eggs. The smell seemed to get stronger as they entered the building, emanating from everywhere.

His eyes could see with a sharpness that humans couldn't appreciate, he saw Dana a head, moving across the floor with more animal motions. She was crouching, moving with her legs bent and her free arm holding her spear ready to thrust at anything. He was sticking close to Kalila, the black woman looking around with her own perception. There was the glance of one of her eyes a darker color before it faded back to normal. She looked worried and tense.

"_Spirits?_" His voice was low, so that he could hear him, but not give his position away.

She nodded. "Several, and more gathering." Kalila rubbed her eyes. "They're after the _nuzusul_, but..."

"_But?_"

"Some of them looked like lunes, and they were fighting with the spirits."

His ears cocked as Heartsblood's head tilted. Lunes fighting? Often the lunes wouldn't be seen outside their phase of the moon which they were tied, let alone contact or battle other spirits. Were the gathering spirits _Irralunim_? Why? He was about to ask Kalila what her interpretation was when he noticed that there was an eerie silence that had dropped in the building. The feeling was familiar, and Heartsblood recognized the favored tactic of Dana.

What he didn't expect was the silence abruptly ending with the packmate exclaiming in a half-roar, "Damnit!"

Heartsblood sprang into action, his muscles pulling and thrusting him forward. Kalila was behind him, running as fast as her human form could, but he was already lengths ahead. He saw Dana skid back, spear in one hand and her tomahawk in the other, quickly making the shift to _Dalu_. The sound of muscle and bone changing filling the air for a split second before she fixed her balance.

The _Edoloth_ didn't get a chance to see what she was fighting, at least at first. A burst of sharp high-pitched clicks off to his left grabbed his attention. His head turned as he registered the ambush from the side. Claws dug into the floor as he slowed himself, realighning his body to face the threat.

He never expected to see walking reptilian skeletons being held together with sparse flesh and muscle surrounding him and his packmates. The things had the rank scent all over them, holding their clawed hands close to their body and grasping greedily at the air. There were two points of light that seemed to float in the eye sockets, color was lost to him in the near-wolf form. He had no idea of numbers, but from what he could see, the several that were perched on the piles of metal and wood crates, the werewolves were outnumbered at least four to one. Two looked about as large as he was in _Urshul_, while the remainder seemed to be smaller, about their wolf forms, and even smaller, down to the size of a cat.

They were surrounded.

Heartsblood heard Dana fighting tooth and nail, her weapons slicing through flesh and cracking bone. Kalila let out a shout of surprise and his head spun to see her. Some of the creatures surrounding her had, what looked like, their tongues wrapped around her body, and she was still in _Hishu_. The Hunter in Darkness let out a low roar, motion at his peripheral caught his attention as the ones perching above him lunged, jaws open and tongues whipping forth.

_* * *_

Vincent tried as best he could to wipe the sweat from his brow. The ventilation duct wasn't in operation, which didn't help when the detective's own body heat made it a sauna. He had been crawling for a while, going about six inches every minute or so. It was slow going, but better than having his blood drained.

The detective didn't know exactly where in the building he was. He guessed he was at least sixty feet from where he had scrambled into the duct. Trying to figure out where to turn and which way might be a dead end. He had to backtrack once, and that wasn't very comfortable, nearly getting him stuck.

Breathing was getting difficult. With the ventilation system off, there was little to no air movement, and every vent he got too, he saw more creatures, scrambling around, their clicking sound sending a shiver of fear down his spine. He wondered if the ventilation shaft would hold his weight, or if he would suddenly fall out of the duct and into the den of monsters.

One room chilled him to the core.

Shining his flashlight through the vent, to see where he was, the room was covered in a dark crimson substance that looked like mucus, shaped and brushed against the walls as they were starting to crumble and break. Inside the room, he saw more of the creatures, walking around and checking basketball sized orbs covered with the mucus.

Vincent noticed some sort of hierarchy amongst the creatures as he observed them. The larger ones seemed to be in charge, with as few of them as there were. They were at least larger than a human, in length and mass. These also had more flesh on their bodies, although Vincent could still see bones sticking out from some areas. Among the smaller ones, the dog sized ones seemed to be a more aggressive. These ones were similar in size to the one he had managed to kill, and they snapped and snarled at each other and the smallest ones. The smallest ones seemed to be the more numerous, scrambling across discarded equipment and crates, fighting with each other, and occasionally being bitten in half by the medium sized ones. These small ones had the least amount of flesh on them, barely held together by strands of tendon and ligament.

No matter how much flesh one had, the eye was never filled in. It was always a small pin-point of light, seemingly floating in a void-like eye socket.

The smell was so strong, it was making Vincent gag. He couldn't breathe easily and his eyes were burning from the scent. Below him, he was surprised how he was able to see it, one of the spheres started to crack and split. A belch of gases and blood escaped from the orb, before a new one of the creatures rolled around on the ground, struggling for a foot hold.

Eggs. All of the round objects in the room were eggs, and they filled nearly the entire room. If Vincent had to guess, there were easily twenty, maybe even thirty eggs in this room alone.

Vincent couldn't hold it any longer, the stench was burning his eyes and his esophagus. The fresh burst of stagnant blood and wet burlap caught him, and forced a coughing fit. Below the duct, all the creatures turned their heads up towards the ventilation shaft running along the length of the room. A large one let out a low-throated growl before the medium sized ones tried to jump at it.

He felt the impacts as several somethings tried to slam into the duct, and the detective knew he had been found out. Within the cramped space he scrambled away from the impacts, causing the metal to dent and deform. Two sharp claws pierced through the duct by his shoulder, and Vincent started crawling even faster. He saw a fork in the duct up ahead, and he didn't have much time to decide which way to go.

His fingers tried to dig into the metal to give him more traction as he scrambled as fast as he could. Parts of the shaft behind him were being ripped apart as more of the creatures jumped and hit the metal, deforming it with their weight. He heard the sounds of something thick and wet slap into the metal by his head. A pair of sharp prongs pierced through the metal and he realized that they were trying to latch onto him through the metalwork.

Vincent went faster, fear racing through him. He scrambled wildly before taking the right fork in the shaft and crawling away. The sounds faded behind him as he gained more distance between him and the room filled with monsters and their eggs, just before the duct fell into the room and he heard the shrieks echo in the ventilation shaft. He was away, and managed to escape by the skin of his teeth again.

The duct continued on after taking a left turn, drawing him farther and farther away from the creatures. He just didn't know if it would lead him to safety, or another nest. The bending in the metal lessened, and he assumed he was between rooms with some more support. There were no more ventilation screens that could let him see where he was, or, more importantly, what was outside.

As he continued crawling, Vincent felt the metal give as he moved. He knew the vent was suspended above something, maybe another room, he didn't know what was down there. The flashlight was still pointed forward as he crawled, looking for any kind of obstruction or screen. It moved with him, being waved to the side as he snaked his way along. When it pointed back down the shaft, he was shocked to find he wasn't alone as the cold chill ran through him again.

Standing, or sitting, down the shaft was something. It was rust colored, squatting on two stub legs with two small arms hanging from it's ball-shaped body. A wide smile, filled with what looked like rusted metal and nails stretched from top to bottom in what looked like the end of a pneumatic crusher. There was a pair of dull yellow eyes that seemed to glow as they stared at him. The eyes lacked an iris or even a pupil, just yellow orbs on the sphere body.

Vincent could smell rust, a heavy scent of corroded iron and metal. The thing stared at him, before he heard what could pass for a chuckle mixed with flaking metal originate from the thing. Its teeth were grinding as it laughed. As it laughed at him, he saw that the duct where it was sitting was starting to rust. And the rust was spreading.

The detective tried to back-crawl away from the thing. There was no way to tell if he was five or fifty feet off the floor. Going backwards was not as easy as moving forwards, however, and he was finding it difficult to get any distance between this thing as it rusted the ventilation shaft.

With the sound of bending and cracking metal, the shaft gave under the combination of Vincent and its own weight. One of the segments behind him bent down as the rust corroded the support. The vent was turned into a make-shift slide, sending Vincent down to the ground hard and fast. Before he could hit the floor, the rest of the duct broke and crashed to the ground, sending a loud metal clang through the area.

Vincent hurt. He tried to look around, but his head was dizzy from the impact, conscious enough to realize he didn't fall that far. Bruised and sore, he pulled himself out of the broken shaft. The thing was gone. His world was spinning. So many things seemed to be out for his skin, and he wasn't sure which way to go.

After pulling himself from the shaft he tried to see where he was. He was in a hallway, with stairs leading up at one end. At the other end was a set of double doors, one of them partway open and leading to the outside. The floor and walls were old and decrepit, showing a combination of cracks and water damage. There were several tall metal lockers against the wall, some had the doors rusted off their hinges. Pipes ran along the length of the ceiling, running under the ventilation shaft that dropped him. They looked rusted and ready to break. One had already cracked, water dripping slowly to the floor in a small puddle.

The smell of corroding metal was everywhere, and it gave Vincent's teeth a twinge of pain. He picked himself back up, his body not bruised any longer, but still sore. As he looked around, considering which way to go, he rubbed his side where he had landed. Further into the building might unleash more creatures, but heading outside was just as large a gamble. Would it be any better than crawling through vent ductwork? He hoped so.

Something tugged at his senses. There was the smell of rotting eggs, but there was something else. He froze as he tried to figure out what the sensation was. Vincent felt like something was coming. Something bigger than him, something that could kill him. Not only one, but two were coming towards him, and the feeling caused the hair on his neck to stand on end. Another scent, this one of something primal, animistic, and predatory.

Then he heard the foot steps coming towards him the door. Closer, and closer from the outside.

Two people carefully walked through the double doors. To say they were people was giving them too much credit. They were human in shape, but something was different about them. In first was a man, with long hair flowing from his head, and a thick beard along his jaw. His eyes were feral, and his angular nose jutted between them. Slung over his shoulder was a sheath for a massive sword, resting at his left hip.

Behind him was a woman, dressed in a dress that seemed to cling to her body. Vincent couldn't tell exactly what color it was, but it seemed blue to him for some reason.. She also looked feral, with a beard of white along her jaw and blazing eyes

Vincent recognized the man. It was the same one from outside the hotel he had seen before going to _Mystique_. An event that felt like it had taken place years ago. Although the clothing was the same, the man seemed larger, tougher, and more feral. Like he was ready to tear into something. Or someone.

He forced himself to breath quietly, silently as he peeked out from the metal locker he had squeezed himself into. The slits in the door allowed him to see into the hallway from the locker. At least he had left the door cracked open, he wasn't sure if he could have gotten out quietly if the door had closed.

Willing himself to be as quiet as a shadow, the detective watched the two as they entered the hallway. The man walked up, giving off an air of authority that Vincent didn't remember seeing. He was sure that the man wasn't like this the other night, and he couldn't have grown a beard so quickly in only a few days. Something told Vincent that this man and woman weren't human. He just didn't know what they were.

The man came up to the ventilation duct still littering the hallway. He crouched down, and sniffed the air. His hands touched the rusted end of the shaft, before he looked up at the rusting pipes. The body posture seemed to give off that the man was contemplating something. Vincent changed his view to the woman. She seemed to be looking around behind the man, sniffing as well. He could start to see some features in the woman.

She looked more built than other women he had noticed, and her nose looked elongated and angular. Even her hair seemed to be wild, like raw energy was trying to straighten it. Her hands had long nails at the end of her fingers, slightly curved like claws.

"He's been here," the man said with a deep growl to his voice. "Recently."

The albino turned towards him. "Which way?"

He was silent for a moment, looked like he was contemplating his words. "The stench isn't making it easy. This rust isn't natural, a spirit was here...." He stood, his head slowly turning around, taking in the hallway.

For a second Vincent felt his heart stop as the man seemed to look right at him through the slits in the door. Those blazing eyes of a deep anger looking back at him. He felt his soul start to shift from fear, to submissiveness, to anger. Then the man looked away, to the rest of the hallway.

"We would have seen him if he left," The words were gruff and harsh as he walked past the broken air shaft, the woman following.

They had just gotten to the stairs when the woman spun, worry evident on her face. Vincent almost thought she had spotted him until she spoke. "The others are in trouble."

"How bad?"

"Not bad. Yet," she replied.

"Once we find him, we'll howl for them."

And they both continued up the stairs.

Vincent waited until they were out of sight before he slowly pushed the locker door open. His back and neck hurt from having to squeeze himself into a small space, but he considered it a necessary evil. Considering he was being chased now.

Were they really after him? He wasn't sure, but from the way the man had been acting it seemed the most likely. What were they, and why were they after him of all people? The vampire he could understand. Vincent knew the location of her lair, he was a security risk and could come back and stake her if he wanted. The monstrosities were understandable too. They were hungry. Just what were these people though? And why after him? What did they mean by 'spirits?' Vincent swallowed hard.

The detective was being hunted, by several unknowns.

Could he somehow get one of them to give him some information? Maybe he could hunt them instead, separate one for some answers. The woman would be an easier target, she didn't have the sword to worry about. She didn't look defenseless, however, so it would still be a challenge. If he did manage to get her, would the other kill him in the process? Vincent didn't know.

He also didn't know the area well enough to set up any kind of ambush, and lacked any real strength of his own.

Sticking to the shadows, Vincent decided to follow the two up the stairs.

He would get answers.

One way or another.

* * *

Elias let out a snort. While he was frustrated with their hunt for the _nuzusul_ he was trying to clear his nose of the scent that seemed soaked into the entire area. Even _Dalu_ had its disadvantages. At least the nose wasn't as sensitive as the wolf's. He knew the others would be fine. If they were fighting, Dana would go for the eyes while Heartsblood could coordinate with her. Kalila wasn't one for fighting, but even she could be roused to battle given the right initiative.

Right now they needed to find their prey and get out before anyone seriously got hurt. Doomwise was noticeably concerned, but she was also worried about getting to the one holding _Urfarah_'s soul. If she had any flaw, it would be her single mindedness.

They climbed to the top of the stairs, noticing a short hallway before more double doors. The smell was stronger, burning. It almost made the _Rahu_ lash out in pain. He kept himself in check, his hand resting on the handle for his klaive sword. A spirit pulsed within the weapon under his touch, and he could feel it's desire to lash out. It would have its moment, of that he was sure. Elias didn't want it to come to that though. As much as he wanted to charge in, howl to the new werewolf and demand he come out and face the facts, he couldn't. Such an act would scare the new werewolf to desperation, possibly death. No one wanted that.

As they reached closer to the doors, Elias heard a song. A twisted lullaby with words of the First Tongue mixed with some darker language sung by a female voice. It was bitter sweet, luring him closer, his restraint wavering. He caught himself and shook his head, trying to clear the song from tempting him.

Doomwise heard it as well. Her eyes narrowed as they continued.

Elias threw the doors open, causing them to slam against the stops, as he and Doomwise looked inside.

They were on a second floor storage unit. Old wooden cargo boxes were stacked along the walls and edge of the floor. Large windows could let someone see over the rest of the buildings, flickering lights along the ceiling tried to turn on, but were unable to. Standing I the center of this room, was a tall woman. Thin, with long black hair and clad only in a tight black dress. A slit ran up past her hip as her black hair seemed to cover her face. Surrounding her, perched on boxes and crouching on the floors were skeletal monstrosities, held together with flesh and tendon, reeking of rotting eggs and stagnant blood. The smell was so strong that it nearly made Doomwise gag, Elias wasn't so fortunate as he felt his stomach churn and start to come up.

The woman was petting one of the beasts, her hands scratching it along the exposed bone of its lower jaw. It seemed to purr with a gurgling tone. The others spun and snarled at the two werewolves standing in the doorway. Unlike the monsters, the woman continued singing until the song was finished, petting and caressing the large beast next to her, which seemed to be putty in her hands.

"_How can you fight, when all you know is dead, your world is gone, forever ours. Fear and pain, with all that you dread, tearing the moon from the stars. Give in to your true self, let go of your responsibilities, let the sick die, in pain and grief. Won't you have some fun, and play with me?_"

She turned towards the werewolves as the creatures started to hiss, but leaving them a wide breath.

"I had wondered when the _Uratha_ would show up," she said with a calculating coldness in her voice. She was speaking the First Tongue flawlessly. There was an oddness about her. At first she had looked alluring, and even beautiful, but now she looked like she was overly thin. Weight loss gone too far. Her beauty seemed exaggerated in places, and even then she gave off an air of desire that wrapped around both werewolves like a long lost blanket fresh from the dryer. Mixing with the blood and eggs was another scent. It smelled like sex, raw and unrestrained. The creature roared at them, standing by her side.

Elias was trying to comprehend what she was. "Doom," he whispered. "What is she?"

"I don't know," the Bone Shadow admitted. "She might be a Ridden."

"A Ridden?" the woman scoffed. "How quaint. Scary when you're out of your league isn't it?" She stood there as the creatures continued to move around her, staring at the werewolves. "You're after the _nuzusul_ that's crawling around, aren't you?"

Elias's eyes widened. This woman knew. She could sense the First Change coming upon someone. But how?

"That'll make the essence all the sweeter," she continued. "When I drain it."

The Storm Lord felt the Rage rise up at the back of his mind. This woman was going to drain the _nuzusul_ dry of his essence like a sponge. The two needed a plan, and to see how strong the woman was. Elias looked her over, drawing upon his ability to read an opponent without any physical confrontation. She didn't seem strong, not like him, but he knew that strength wasn't everything. The woman may be physically weak, but she might be able to back it up in spiritual power.

Doomwise tensed up, horror washing across her face. Before the pack had split, she had made a mental connection with them all. An in-tuned sense that told her if they were fighting, and where they were. She had gotten the sensation that Dana, Heartsblood,and Kalila were in battle, with Kalila fairing worse than the others. She could tell the frustration in Elias, but now, she felt nothing. The sensation was like she had been cut off from her pack, isolated.

The woman just smiled at her. Her left eye narrowing at Doomwise, with a come-hither look. The right was covered and hidden with hair.

"What are you?!" Doomwise howled at the woman, teeth bared. Rage boiled under her skin.

"Not so confident without Luna's favor are we?" The woman smirked. "The question isn't what...but who." Another wave of desire started to wash over Elias and Doomwise. The werewolves could feel their own resolve start to break down. They wanted to satisfy the desire growing within them, but knew that in doing so they would sacrifice their souls, and their lives.

"Resist all you can. You're in my domain now. Give into your lusts and desires. Satisfy yourself in the pleasures of this world," she seemed euphoric in her speech, as if the act of tempting them to damn themselves was enough to drive her to climax, ending with her laughter.

Doomwise felt the heat rising in her. The Rage was being mixed with the need to mate, to feel the release of her own frustration. To bask in the sensation of her body pushed to its limits before the rush of euphoria. She resisted as best she could, racking her mind to figure out what this thing was. If it was Ridden, it was hiding most of the characteristics. It was using its influence, but it was so strong, no regular Spirit-Ridden could do this. The woman even looked more human than a _duguthim_ despite some of her features.

A thought came back to the _Cahalith_, of what Park Sun Ae had told her that morning about her vision. The sexual desire rising in her body turned into cold fear as she looked at the woman, laughing. That same haunting laughter.

"Ma.. Maeljin."

She stopped her laughter, and just smiled at Doomwise again.

"Yes. I am Maeljin."

"But..."

"Not possible you think," she cut off the werewolf. "Oh it is possible, half-breed."

Doomwise fought her own urges, and Elias was doing the same, trying to bring himself some degree of control. The thoughts were taking root. Thoughts about throwing Elias to the ground, and mounting him. Guaranteeing her own release. She tried to keep them back, to keep herself. The fear was replaced with instinct clashing with logic.

The albino fell to the ground, fighting herself as she tried to think. She couldn't run, her knees were weak from desire and need. Such lust, such desire for her own sexual gratification. Her mind tried to concentrate on what Maeljin this lustful beast was.

It clicked.

"You... You're Carnala," Doomwise said in panting breaths.

Carnala, the Lady of Lust, just smiled. It was a smile of pride, if she had such a feeling, before it disappeared into a cold stare. "Kill them."

The creatures sprang into action. Various sizes and ratios of flesh to skeleton swarming towards the two werewolves. One skidded to a stop, its claws digging into the floor before a long, tendril tongue lashed out and wrapped around the weakened Doomwise's neck, taking the Bone Shadow by surprise. She felt the prongs sink into her flesh, right into the artery.

Elias snapped into action. The _Rahu_ focused his own spiritual fuel through his body. There was a moment where he felt faster, quicker, but then it was gone. Leaving the warrior just as shell-shocked as Doomwise. He snarled, hand gripped around the fetish klaive before pulling it from the sheath and cleaving the creature's head in two.

The spirit pulsed within the klaive. It wanted battle. It wanted blood. It wanted victory. And Elias Winterborn was going to give it that chance. A short communion with the spirit, showing his own balance in the heat of battle, as a monster pounced onto his back. Claws and teeth dug into his flesh, the burning sensation of pain running through his mind. Then he shifted.

Doomwise was back on her feet, before dropping to all fours as bones and sinew broke and reformed. She had gone to _Urshul_ before biting into the arm of one creature that got too close, its bone crushed in her massive jaws. Another tongue wrapped around her foreleg, and she felt the pins pierce through her pale white fur and muscle. She growled as more tried to latch onto her.

The monsters were starting to swarm. A chaotic mass of bone, flesh, claws, tongues, and red floating eyes.

Elias was a fighter, this much was certain. Under the night of the full moon was when he had changed. In a bath of blood and gore, he had become a werewolf. Now, he was calling upon that form. The _Uratha_'s true form. Of man and wolf, of Rage and destruction, of tooth and claw.

He towered over the creatures as they swarmed. No longer human, he was a nightmarish mix of human and wolf. A thick coat of light grey fur covered his body, only giving the slightest detail of the rippling muscles beneath the skin. His head was now a massive wolf, with eyes wide and wild with his inner Rage as it burned through him. Large muscled arms clutched his klaive in one hand, the weapon now seeming smaller than it had been while human. The hands, now as big as a tire, ended each finger with a large curved claw. His legs were wolf-like, digigrade with massive claws gripping the floor. Behind him, was a long matted tail, giving the werewolf a sense of balance.

What now stood was the werewolf of legend. A nine-foot tall, snarling, death beast of rage and fury known as _Gauru_, the war-form.

Elias' clothes had melded with his body as he made the fast change to _Gauru_. What remained was the belt that held the sheath for his klaive as it hugged the war-form's hips. Leather bracers held tight along his fore arms, starting at his wrist. Each bracer with a different design made from leather and bone.

With a massive hand, he grabbed the creature that had pounced onto him, before ripping it off and slamming it to the ground with a bone-crunching crash. There was no finesse, no dexterity, just raw power. The Storm Lord's Rage had been invoked, and he was going to do everything to make his pack survive.

* * *

Vincent Nelson considered himself lucky that he had been able to follow the two strangers for as long as he did without being found. They had already ascended the stairs and he heard a song on the air before it had been silenced. He climbed the stairs on all fours, keeping small to avoid any surprises.

Following the two had been easier than he thought as he came to the top, seeing one of the double doors was cracked open. He almost expected the smell to get worse, on that note he wasn't disappointed. What the detective didn't expect was the sounds of a fight unfolding. He ran up to the door, keeping out of sight as he glanced inside.

His eyes widened with terror at what he saw.

Inside the room were more of the skeleton creatures, all of various sizes, and one very large one. There was a massive pale white wolf, snarling and biting the creatures, tearing out chunks of flesh or breaking bones with every snap of its jaws. The other thing was what terrified him to the core. It was nearly ten feet tall, a light gray, wielding a sword that seemed to just slice through the creatures on impact, leaving a floating mist in its wake. The thing had a wolf's head, with crazed eyes as it slashed and hacked at the creatures. But the flesh-skeletons continued to attack.

The detective may have been afraid of the werewolf and giant wolf, but not as near as much as he was of the skeleton horrors launching themselves at the two with such ferocity. What caught his attention, was the woman in black, standing in the center of the room and watching the confusion. He felt drawn to her. It was such a strong feeling, but he didn't know what he wanted. Did he want to run, to hide, to fight, or to fuck. Vincent sure didn't know.

He had to figure out what was going on, and why. His obsession with the occult had brought him this far, he might as well see it through. It would have been safer to run, something was tugging Vincent not to, to keep hiding, and stalking. Turning the hunt against his pursuers.

Carefully, Vincent slipped through the opened door before ducking behind a stack of crates. He heard the battle rage on the other side of the crates and boxes. The body of one creature went flying through the air, before crashing into the wall, shattering as the form connected. Bones rained down on Vincent, but the fight continued. From what peeks he could make through the breaks in the barrier, the werewolf and giant wolf were killing the creatures fairly easily, although most of them were in broken pieces. Even with the werewolf killing them, it seemed to be running out of steam as the form started to shrink down, back into the man Vincent had seen.

He was bleeding profusely, from several slashes across his body, his clothes were soaked in blood, slashes ripped through the heavy coat. He still had the wild beard along his jaw, and that wild look of an animal ready to attack. Collapsing next to him was the giant wolf, its fur matted with blood from many attacks, and missing pieces of flesh. The creatures surrounded them, holding the wolf down with their body weight.

The wolf inhaled before trying to howl, pushing itself up. It was stopped fast as a black slash lacerated it through the neck, causing the massive canine to cough up blood as the red liquid drizzled down the neck.

"Uh, uh," the woman said, playfully scorning them. "None of that now." She was still standing fifteen feet away from the defeated. How did she do that?

Vincent watched as the woman walked up to them. Her hand distorted and writhed as the fingers extended into long black claws. The palm was large, and each finger had extended to nearly a foot in length.

"I must thank you for allowing my pets to satisfy their lust for your blood. I'm sure the rest of your pack can prove just as much... satisfaction as you did." She clearly wasn't human, and was going to kill the werewolves.

Vincent saw her raise her hand back, preparing to deal the final strike. A sickening smile on her face, as if she was enjoying the idea of slaughtering someone. He fought with his internal drives. The detective wanted to stay hidden, away from the conflict. He also couldn't just let them die like that, while he remained a coward. There was the desire to have the woman to himself, but that was on such a primal level that he didn't know if he could keep it back. His hand reached for one of his sai, fiddling with it.

Attack or hide. Stay hidden and watch, or get involved and die in the process. Wouldn't he just die either way. He couldn't stay there and do nothing. No. He had to attack, he had to distract her just enough to let them escape.

Though there was no guarantee they wouldn't kill him just the same.

Taking a firm grasp of the sai, he stood and spun around a break between the crates. Vincent threw the sai with everything he could muster, throwing every ounce of will he could into the strike. As he let the weapon fly he shouted, "Think fast!"

The woman turned towards him, more out of surprise than anything else. Striking her in the chest, the weapon embedded itself up to the handle through her torso. She was dumbfounded, staring at the metal weapon sunk into her chest, between her breasts as she took a half-step back to regain her balance. Black ichor trickled down from the wound, landing into smoldering puddles between her feet.

Vincent smiled. While he had hit the mark, the detective didn't register that he had possibly killed someone. Then again, she wasn't human. Was she?

She looked at the sai, before raising her eyes to look at him. And smiled. The smile was a perverted look of allure as Vincent felt a cold chill of fear grasp him, the smile fading from his face.

Taking a hold of the weapon, she slowly pulled it out of her chest. Like some mystical artifact removed from its place. What could be considered her blood smoldered along the metal, steam rising off of the covered prongs. With a motion that no one could see, the sai went flying back, right into Vincent's left shoulder. Hitting the detective with such force it threw him back into the wall, slamming into it with a bone-chilling crunch.

Pain ran through Vincent's mind. His injury from the werewolf wasn't fully healed and it burned more now that he felt the sai burst through his shoulder. Bone had broken and the wound burned with a hot flame. He stammered, barely able to say anything but gasp in pain. Still registering everything that was happening, he heard the woman making her way towards him as he tried to pick himself back up.

His mind was cracking, and he knew it. So much was going on, so much he didn't understand. Pain burned through him like fire. Mixing with rage, anger, fear, and lust. Instincts were fighting for control, some way to match his changing perception.

"My my," she said getting closer. Her arm extended out, a contorted amalgamation of bone, metal and shadow, spreading over the distance and slamming Vincent into the wall again, pinning him there. "So this is the one? He's on the cusp, isn't he?"

Vincent heard the wolf growl and snarl in defiance. To Vincent, it almost sounded like it had said '_leave him alone_.'

"Is he that special to you?" As she walked closer to the detective, he could feel her hand pressing against him. His senses were on overload. The smells, the sharpened vision, the feeling of the bones in her arm reforming and re-knitting as they came back together with each step she took, the sound of the bones grinding and breaking before resetting.

She was standing close to him, holding him up against the wall. His shoulder burned, his loins ached for release, his senses were overloading, his mind was losing grip on reality.

Leaning in towards Vincent, the hair covering the right side of her face moved, and Vincent's eyes widened. It wasn't an eye, it was a grafting of deformed twisted flesh around an orb blacker than night. A glowing red pinpoint floated on the surface, illuminating his face. The skin seemed to move and twitch, mixing with the black tattoo along her right side.

Lust, rage, anger, fighting. They were gone now, replaced with a primal fear. A fear that he had never felt before. Even as he started to feel his own soul being drained to her. He couldn't move with precision, or any clarity. Searching, frantic for a way out, for any path away from this thing. This demon ready to suck his soul. Inching closer to him.

"Then taking him... will break you..."

The peskett was a weapon used in World War II, designed for the purpose of being a silent weapon able to kill, it fell out of practice in recent years. A cylinder compressing a high-tension spring inside, resting at the base of a long thin spike, when depressed, the spring would send the spike through the target. Commonly using the peskett was to restrain someone, place it under the jaw, depress the spring, and let the spike pierce through the skull.

It was crude but effective.

Vincent's staff was based on the peskett design. With two springs on the middle segment, when twisted, the springs would unleash their kinetic energy with a loud 'twang.' Giving anyone sorry enough to be caught by the attack a nasty headache or doubling over from having the wind knocked out of them. He had worked on the weapon with his step-father, wanting a weapon that wouldn't really kill, but could be well hidden if need be.

The loud 'twang' of his compound staff was quickly followed by a bone crunching crack as the end of the staff slammed into the woman's lower jaw. Sending her reeling backwards, her head dislocated from her neck. She stumbled back wards, her arms in front of her, and waving in confusion. Vincent took the second to consider his options. Fight, or flight.

And he ran along the wall, heading for the stairs.

* * *

Carnala's head was hanging off the side of her neck, the bones hadn't broken the skin, and the blow would in no way kill her. Her head was hanging on by skin and what little muscles were still attatched while her neck was shattered. It was an inconvenience at best. The notion, that an un-changed werewolf had done that to her burned in her heart. Grabbing her head with one hand, she brought it back forward onto the neck. Bones snapped and healed themselves as she turned and readjusted her head.

There was anger in her eyes. Pure hatred. No one could do that to the Scarlet Whore. No one could make a mockery out of the Maeljin. She roared with anger as she swung her hand out. Each finger darting forward, elongating drastically. They split and broke through the wooden structures like paper, sending splinters and shattered wood flying. She still missed as the _nuzusul_ used the crates for cover, running along the wall and heading for the door.

"**Kill him!**" the Maeljin bellowed. Her creatures lunged to work, scrambling away and leaving the injured werewolves alone.

Big mistake.

Doomwise was the first up, her body shifting from _Urshul_ to her own _Gauru_ form, with the same pale white fur. Her massive head bit down on the Maeljin's extended arm, her teeth slicing clean through at the elbow. The arm and had dropped to the floor, before shriveling into a twisted string of metal, flesh, and shadows. The _Cahalith_'s throat was healing, that didn't mean her mouth was useless.

Before Carnala could retaliate, the hate burning in her purple and black eyes, Elias's klaive burst through her chest, clean to the hilt, with Elias in _Dalu_ holding it. Black blood covered the blade as it burned with the cold of a winter wind, freezing the blood as it rested on the metal. The Maeljin hissed as she contorted her body, twisting her left arm to grab the werewolf by his coat and ripped him off her, yanking the sword from her torso. She also spun and slammed into Doomwise, sending her sprawling back.

Carnala regained her composure before she heard the sound of glass dropping from an already broken frame.

* * *

Vincent scrambled for traction as the detective held his left arm steady. The sai was still lodged in him, and now his staff was extended and braced against this pained arm while he made a break for the door. He was making some progress until he heard the crates shatter as something broke through the wood. Splinters flew everywhere, forcing him to keep his head down and covered as he ran. Broken wood pegged him along his back, and littered the floor, causing him to lose stability.

When he heard the woman bellow for his death, the fear clawing at his mind forced him to run faster. He still had the piles of crates and boxes between him, her, and the creatures, so it granted him some cover. For the moment.

The creatures were mobilizing around the crates, he could hear their claws on the floor as they scrambled after him, obeying their master's commands. If he could keep going he might be able to beat them out of the building. But then what? It was open ground and he had no knowledge of where else these things were crawling around. He sure couldn't stay here.

He had gained some ground before one of the creatures jumped onto a low stack of crates just to his left. Vincent had no way to stop in time, even as he saw the monster lower it's jaws in a decayed snarl. Everything seemed to be in slow motion for the detective as the thing lunged at him, slamming claws and teeth into his coat. It hit him so hard that it took him off his feet, and through the window he had been by.

Glass shattered and flew like shrapnel as Vincent and the creature tumbled in the air before dropping quickly to the ground. The pair landed on an old dumpster that still had refuse in it, but the lid was closed. Plastic and bone broke as the two twisting bodies crashed onto the dumpster.

Moaning in pain and disorientation, the detective tried to comprehend what had happened. His body was on fire, his shoulder was bleeding, and he felt pain in his stomach. The body of the creature wasn't moving, much of it had broken after Vincent used it to break his fall, and one of its ribs was sticking into his torso. Mentally out of it, Vincent grabbed the broken rib and started to pull it out. Fresh blood flowed from the wound as he took the rib out.

He pulled himself off the dumpster, falling to the ground in a heap. Vincent was in pain, his body felt heavy and his mind felt like it was shattering. The blood that was flowing from his stomach seemed to be slowing down to a few trickles. He didn't know why, nothing was making sense. By all accounts Vincent should have been dead. Attacked, scared, thrown from a window, clawed, and just pulled a broken bone from his stomach.

Laying on the ground he started to pull the sai out of his shoulder, howling in pain as his blood stuck to the blade. Gasping and hissing in pain, he pulled himself up, and grabbed his staff with the same hand. His weapons were awkward in his heavy hand while his left arm hung freely. Shuffling onward, he had to get away, he had to get distance, he had to get away.

He'd drive the truck out, burn out the transmission, just so long as he escaped. Scuffling along the ground, his vision was blurring and focusing randomly. He saw a vehicle, and he thought it was the semi truck still sitting there in the lot. As his vision switched between clear and cloudy, he started to question. It wasn't a semi-truck, it was a smaller car. A dark coloration in the clear night sky. The shape looked familiar, and his mind was finding it difficult to bring the memory forth.

Glass shattered behind him and he spun, nearly dropping to the ground. The shards of glass rained on the ground as the woman dressed in black landed gracefully on the ground. Her right arm was missing from the elbow down. Flipping her hair behind her left ear, she started walking towards him.

"You are a difficult werewolf to catch," she said softly. Even as the creatures swarmed at the shattered windows from the second floor.

Vincent kept sliding backwards, protecting his injured shoulder. His emotions were a storm of feelings, needs, and desires, confusing him to his core. Run, fight, slash, kill, hide, sex. The world was becoming a swirling tornado of information, feelings, and urges. Why couldn't he think? Why couldn't Vincent Nelson center his mind on the problem? Why did she call him a werewolf?

The woman held out the shortened arm, the bone sticking out through the flesh. Vincent could see and smell the muscle as it started to bubble and churn until a fresh arm, covered in the black substance, erupted forth. She flexed the fingers, checking for feeling, before she pointed at Vincent.

Darting across the distance, the finger extended towards him before digging into his left shoulder. Pain wracked his body as he howled in pain, throwing his head back. His flesh smoked as it seemed to explode on contact with the finger he could feel digging through bone and muscle. It burned. Such an inhuman pain, firing off every neuron in his mind, forcing his knees to buckle.

"I am going to enjoy," she said with an unearthly glee to her voice. "Taking your soul, and slowly cutting it. Slicing, eviscerating, and filling every moment with sweet luscious pain until that is all you know. Begging me to never stop. So addicted that pain _is_ your pleasure." She was walking towards Vincent slowly, as her extended finger seemed to decrease in length. Bones and flesh mending and breaking with every step. It dug around in his shoulder, sending another wave of pain through him.

A burst of gunfire echoed through the night air. Bullets rained down into the ground between the woman and Vincent, a bullet breaking through her extended finger, causing the remains to evaporate into shadows. Lost, the detective forced to turn his head up to the sound of the gun fire. Standing on top of one of the buildings was a woman, dressed in nice black leather, with pale skin and blazing red hair.

In the whirlwind of emotions and needs running through him, Vincent put a name to the face. "Danielle..." His voice was distant as his eyes shook in his sockets.

Next she was in front of him, a pistol or revolver pointed at the woman. He didn't see Danielle get there, all he could fathom was that she was there now.

"I don't know what you are," she said, her gun raised at the woman, who looked more annoyed than in pain. "But I can't let you kill him. I have plans for him...."

Vincent didn't hear what else was said, his own heart was beating in his ears. A deafening roar as his blood pulsed through his veins. He tried to stand as his vision faded, then focused, then faded again. There were the creatures, as they jumped from the second story where he had fallen. The man and woman erupted through two double doors, fighting with more of the creatures. Metal crashed and ripped as another massive werewolf, this one with tan fur, jewelry, and a red bandanna around its neck erupted from the side of the opposite building. It held a spear in hand and the mangled body of one of the creatures in the other. Another large wolf was tumbling around the ground with another, as dozens of small creatures tried to climb on them both. There was one more canine biting and fighting, this one looked more like a hyena than a wolf.

He didn't hear the sounds of combat. There were the smells of blood, the rotten eggs and meat, gun powder, metal, plastic, rust, car exhaust, leather. His eyes tried to focus as he felt his body burning. So much. So much chaos erupting around him. And he was unable to cope with it all.

There was a pull at is soul, his very being. It was subtle, but it steadily got stronger. He looked up to the sky, to the star filled sky, and knew what was pulling was up there, unseen. His eyes widened as he stared up at the moonless night. His body burned and ached. Heartbeats sending lighting through his veins, burning like steam.

Anger.

He felt raw, unbridled, anger. It burned within his blood. Roaring through the sound of his heart. Sharpening his senses, bringing forth a feeling that burned with pure hate and rage. Vincent's lips curled back, showing his teeth as he looked up to the night sky. Anger, rage, hate, power. Power. Yes power. Power that he could feel rushing in him. Power that could quell his fear. Power that could end this shifting, twisting, nightmare of horrors!

All he had to do was let it out.

He could feel the power. A primal force that had been building inside of him, demanding a release, fighting a way to claw to the surface. It came. In an explosion of inhibition, fury, and **RAGE**.

At that instant, Vincent's vision was reduced to shades of red.


End file.
